


Winter Bloom

by GreenQueenofClubs



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: (like really slow burn), F/M, Slow Burn, and a good friend, arianne martell is awesome, at least they dont need to change the name, daenarys died, post war for the dawn, the seven kingdom decide to go back to being seven kingdoms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-19 09:29:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14234313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenQueenofClubs/pseuds/GreenQueenofClubs
Summary: The War for the Dawn has been won. Westeros is saved. Winterfell belongs to the Starks again. Yet, despite how little she wants to leave again, Sansa Stark must go to King's Landing to decide the future of the Seven Kingdoms.May the Old Gods and the New let her meet more agreeable companions this time.





	1. Meetings

**Author's Note:**

> Alright folks. This is my most important warning: when I say slow burn, I meant sloooow burn.
> 
> Like 20 000 words before they kiss slow burn.
> 
> Good news is, it's all already written, so I promise you'll get to the smooch if you enjoy the ride enough to follow me!

Sansa stood straight and tall as she watched the warriors trickle in from the North. They had been coming for days now, slowly, painfully, pushing their bloody way through the snow. First were the healthier ones, the sons of important lords, and the messengers. Since then, the soldiers had shown ever increasing signs of injuries, from bleeding wounds to dark frostbites eating up their limbs.

As the Lady of Winterfell, Sansa would welcome the nobles in Winterfell, and administer the keep as well as she could with the few resources they still had. Arya had taken to mingling with the various groups, seeking to know and help them. She would meet wildlings and refugees as much as the Southrons that were only stopping for a few days before making their way home. Rickon had mostly stopped running wild, and had started running around to try and help as much as a 6 years old could. As the Lord of Winterfell, Sansa appreciated that he was trying to know his people, even if she would wish he did so with a bit more restraint.

When, by miracle, she could afford to step out and breathe, Sansa would stand on the battlements and look out. Like everyone else, like the whole of Westeros, she was starved for more news, real news.

Daenerys was dead, sacrificing herself to stop the Night King. Her two remaining dragons had also fallen, bringing with them the last hope of the Targaryen dynasty. Yet concerning the other great Lords that had moved North, no reliable news had come.

And rumors had since then run wild.

Stannis was either dead at the hands of Tyrion Lannister, or had already been crowned King. Tyrion had either committed ritual suicide over the death of his queen or had his two arms ripped off by an ice giant. Jon Snow had ran off north of the fallen Wall, never to been seen again, or had given in to his Targaryen blood and slaughtered everyone in an effort to grab the Throne.

Sansa worried and worried, and hid it all behind a mask of ice. _Never let them see you bleed,_ Littlefinger would tell her. Never show them your weaknesses, or they will tear down everything you are and everyone you love.

Sansa had rejected Littlefinger’s teachings on the same day she stood aside to let the Lords of the Vale take him away for judgement and execution. Yet she was never fully able to set aside the mask. Not out of fear, but because all those people walking to Winterfell would look at her for guidance. They needed her to be strong and wise, the Stark in Winterfell, the guiding light for them to follow.

Arya and Rickon would help them heal, but Sansa needed to lead. Until Jon came back, until he could stand beside her and take some of the burden she couldn’t bring herself to put on her younger siblings. Not when they were still so young. Not when they were doing so much good that Sansa never could.

Jon came, snowbound and weary. His young shoulders seemed to be drooping under the weight of new sorrows. Sorrows because of the death of so many friends, amongst them King Stannis Baratheon, who had supported him and the Watch when no one else would.

Tyrion came, the last of the Lannisters, standing taller than he ever had before despite the loss of his Queen and his dragon.

Edmure came, healthy and proud, prouder than he had been ever since Robb died. At long last, he had been able to redeem himself and save his people.

And despite the soldiers still coming, still crawling to safety, Sansa and Jon and Tyrion and Edmure had to consider what to do next.

“We need to go to King’s Landing.” Sansa stated, looking at the other men.

“We need to rebuild the North. Politics can wait.” Jon was standing at the window, shoulders tense and jaw set.

“Except that we can’t. We are in the middle of Winter, and the North has neither the resources, the men or the food to sustain itself if Spring is far. We need to meet with the other Lords, and secure alliances.” Sansa explained softly. She had been overseeing the books with Arya’s help, and knew more than anyone else how tenuous the situation was.

“The Riverlands will support you with everything we have, niece, you must know this.” Edmure offered gallantly, slouching in his chair. Sansa never knew what do with her uncle. She knew she should appreciate him as one of her last family member, but could never stop herself from wishing he was more like her mother.

“The Riverlands are still scarred and in chaos from my father’s armies, Tully. You’ll never have the means to both support yourself _and_ the North. Especially if no truce is agreed upon with the Iron Islands.” Tyrion drawled, starring down at his ale. “Lady Sansa is right. The Great Houses need to meet and take advantage of everyone’s good mood to settle the Throne and write up a few good treaties.”

“But we can’t afford to go to King’s Landing! The North is in ruins, it needs to be taken care of.” Jon said, pushing himself off the wall to pace around the room.

“Then only I will go.” Sansa said. “You stay with Arya and Rickon, and take care of Winterfell, while I get us what we need.”

“Sansa-” Jon halted and stared at her, incredulous.

“You are right, there needs to be a Stark in Winterfell, and we both know neither Arya nor Rickon are ready or willing to leave. But one of us needs to go.” Sansa straightened herself even more, staring at him.

“Are you sure-” Jon trailed off again, awkward and unsure. Tyrion and Edmure, wisely decided to let them settle the issue amongst siblings.

“Am I sure I want to go? Of course not. I just got back home, I would rather not leave, not so soon. But I am sure that I would rather our people not starve, or our borders not be attacked as soon as the other Lords regroup? Yes, I am. And I know the South and its Lords better than any of us.”

Jon hesitated a little longer, before nodding jerkily.

“I’ll gather a guard for you. You are not going alone.” He ground out, and Sansa nodded gratefully. She decided not to point out that her father had also had a guard. It didn’t matter; she was not her father, and the Lannister were gone.

“Well, I for one will be glad to have more for company than my father’s old generals. They might be brilliant, but they are dreadful drinking companions.” Tyrion offered with a twist of his mouth.

 

* * *

 

Sansa’s travel South was more difficult than the last time she had moved down the King’s Road. The trip seemed to dredge up more bad memories the than Winterfell ever did. On the day the convoy passed the keep where Lady had died, Sansa couldn’t bring herself to leave the wagon, and Tyrion had to make her excuses to the Lord and Lady.

As the rest of the convoy praised the warming of the weather, Sansa felt as if her skin turned more and more to ice, to protect herself from the dangers of the Capital and all the trauma it held.

Where Winterfell was full of memories of happy days past, King’s Landing was haunted by the ghosts of horror she had tried to forget. Still, she held her head up. She needed to be strong, to lead as a Stark and represent the North to all of those people that, thanks to their sacrifices, would never face the Neverending Winter.

 On the way, they were joined by the rest of Tyrion’s and Edmure’s parties, and by the time they all reached King’s Landing, they had formed a fairly impressive parade.

Once in the Red Keep, Sansa was more than happy to let Tyrion take care of organizing the staff and the reception of the other diplomats. The Keep was in chaos after having been leaderless and without news for much longer than advisable. Only Tyrion, as a former Hand of the King, understood enough of its administration to be of any use.

On her part, Sansa was free to retire to the new rooms she was given, and nominally rest after the long and emotionally tiring journey. She appreciated Tyrion’s attention in placing her about as far as the Tower of the Hand -and any other rooms she had occupied before- as possible. It probably wouldn’t keep all the nightmares at bay, but at least there were no old pains haunting the corners of her rooms.

And sleep she direly needed as the Keep was receiving more and more dignitaries, as Great and petty nobles answered the summon.

While the Lady of Winterfell remained at all time the picture of aloof politeness, Sansa wasn’t sure what to feel when the delegations from the Stormlands, the Vale and Dorne arrived. Shireen Baratheon, still grieving her father, had sent a distant uncle as her ambassador who was easily dealt with. Harry Harding’s presence, however, through very little fault of his own, dredged up painful memories of Littlefinger and the Vale.

Yet, it was Arianne Martell who drew the most attention. Sansa had been friends with Margaery Tyrell and Myranda Royce and Mya Stone. She had met outspoken and confident women throughout her life. But Arianne Martell was so sure of herself, of her judgement, and of her people that she created a pull around her, which couldn’t help but impress Sansa. And intimidate her a little bit. She offered all her best courtesies to the Princess of Dorne, who returned them in kind, yet Sansa was somewhat relieved when the bustle kept them from more intimate settings.

Princess Arianne was an unknown quantity, and Sansa had learned to be wary of the unknown. Mostly she kept to herself. Even Edmure and Tyrion she was happy to leave to their own parties. Instead she sent multiple letters to Winterfell, reassuring her siblings about her well-being, and asking for updates about the North.

When she felt like her chest was too tight, when she was sickly cold and shaking, when she felt like Cersei Lannister and Joffrey were leering over her shoulder, the reminder that she had a _home,_ had a _family_ she could go back to at any time helped her breathe better. She felt like Sansa Stark again, not a scared little bird. She still had no desire to visit the Sept of Baelor, or the godswood, and she did her best to avoid the cavernous audience room, but she could get through it. She could be strong. She could be the Lady of Winterfell. She could lead her people, lead all of the people.

Despite the ghosts at the corner of her eyes, the patience she had learnt bidding her time in King’s Landing and in the Eyrie served her well as the tension seemed to build in the Keep. All were waiting on the arrival of the Tyrells, and most stewed in the uncertainty and distrust between the different families. There was too much history in Westeros to be buried by something as small as avoiding the extinction of all humans.

Tyrion distracted himself by administrating, Edmure by pacing.

Sansa hid behind her mask, wrote and waited.

The Tyrells came almost a week after Sansa made it to the capital. The delegation was small, almost as small as the Baratheon’s. They looked exhausted, like they had been hard walking for months, rather than the couple of weeks between Highgarden and King’s Landing. Sansa slipped into the audience room just as the convoy walked in.

Leading them were two handsome men. The first one, Sansa recognized with fondness as Ser Garlan, Margaery’s brother, who had been one of the only ones to spare her some kindness on the day of her wedding to Tyrion. The other, she did not know, but the cane he used to walk and his likeness to Ser Garlan marked him as Lord Willas, the eldest of the Tyrell children. The new Lord of the Reach, since Lord Mace had passed away when Daenerys first came to Westeros.

Sansa’s gut twisted as she came face to face with the man she had so fantasized about, once upon a time. She remembered how Margaery suggested a wedding to her eldest brother, to save her from the Lannisters, to get her to safety. How young Sansa had been enamored by the idea, murmuring Lord Willas’ name in the dark of night to comfort herself. She had imagined him as handsome as Loras, as gallant as Garlan, as warm as Margaery.

The man in front of her was not the perfect man she had imagined when she was twelve. Lord Willas Tyrell had not his younger siblings entrancing good looks, but his face was pleasant and his eyes shone bright with intelligence. He moved forward slowly, bowing as much as he was comfortable.

“My lords and ladies, I apologize for the delay. The Ironborns were bloodthirsty even when their defeat was evident, and we had to make sure the Reach was safe.” He said. His manners were not as showy as Sansa had known from the Tyrells, but there was an assurance in his cadence that she appreciated.

Garlan quickly took over the niceties and introductions, letting Willas take a step back. Sansa watched him discreetly from the corner of her eye, noticing that he observed everyone and took note of their reactions to Garlan’s more exuberant jokes.

Until his eyes were on her. The quirk of his eyebrows revealed that he knew he was being watched as well. Rather than blushing at being caught, she bowed her head in greetings, and felt a little thrill when he did the same.

No, he was not the man she had thought he would be when she was twelve, but she could feel nothing but fondness for her younger self who still had so much hope.

 

* * *

 

The first day of the Great Council was pure pandemonium. The Baratheon’s ambassador, Lord Estermont, had nothing but harsh words for Tyrion and his family. Edmure kept demanding reparations for the considerable damages the War of the Five Kings had brought to the Riverlands. Harry was bold and loud, showing his inexperience with court.

More importantly, though, there were no clear candidates for the Iron Throne, which meant there was near twenty five candidates for the Iron Throne. Almost everyone was trying to out shout the others to push their own agendas forward.

Almost immediately, predictably, some bureaucrats mentioned that Jon should take the throne as the only surviving Targaryen.

“That is out of the question.” Sansa said, loud enough to be heard, standing up. She had remained silent so far, not wishing to waste her energy in pointless debates. However, she would not let them drag Jon in this mess. “Jon does not wish the throne, neither does he consider himself a Targaryen. He has no intention of coming to the South, and will most definitely fight anyone who tries to make him. I am sorry, my lords, but a solution must be found elsewhere.”

She sat back down, straightening her skirt, and looked around. Some looked put out by the removal of a relatively easy option. Others were relieved that the possibility of another Targaryen King was cast aside. Then there was Arianne, who simply quirked an eyebrow in sympathy at her. Sansa couldn’t help but smirk wryly in answer.

From then on, every time one of the man at the table said something nonsensical or ridiculous, their eyes found each other, silently offering the other mental fortitude in this sea of finger wagging and raised voices. Arianne spoke more than Sansa, mostly in defense of Dorne and their role in the unrest, but generally left the men to their shouting. The only other who kept silent was Lord Willas. Sansa would sneak a look at him once in a while, and he seemed to be sharply observing the proceedings, without desire to participate. Even when someone dared to complain about the Reach’s involvement, especially regarding Margaery’s marriage to three of the contenders to the throne, he simply glared them down, without dignifying the comment with an answer.

The meeting was finally called off for the day as everyone’s stomachs grumbled, and Sansa took her time gathering herself and her things. The last thing she wanted was for one of the others, be it her uncle or a stranger, to try and drag her back into one of their arguments, or worse, ask for her to convince Jon to change his mind.

No, it was much better to wait a bit and eat her meal in her rooms, away from all the excitement.

Lord Willas, however, seemed to have much of the same idea. She might have been worried he was trying to corner her, if it hadn’t been for the awkwardness between them when it transpired they were both waiting to be alone. Perhaps he preferred to walk out alone on account of his leg, or perhaps his reasons were the same as hers. Regardless, she was about to try and take her leave as gracefully as possible when he spoke up.

“Might I be allowed to walk you to the dining hall, Lady Sansa?” he asked, after clearing his throat.

“I had intended to go back to my rooms to rest, my Lord.” She answered thoughtlessly. He deflated and reddened, so she quickly added “But I would not mind company on my way there, if you do not mind a detour.” After all, a good acquaintance with another calm voice at the table could not be a bad thing. The Seven only knew they would probably need it.

Lord Willas squared back his shoulders ever so slightly, and gave her a small smile.

“I would not mind at all.” He said softly.

He gestured her forward, and seemed pleased when she stepped on the side opposite to his cane so he could offer her his arm. They walked in comfortable silence for a while, just like Sansa had expected, yet she couldn’t help but be curious.

“You were very quiet today, Lord Tyrell.” She said, leaving the question unsaid, hanging in the air.

“So were you, my lady.” He answered, looking straight ahead.

Sansa could recognize an avoidance when she heard one, and didn’t feel like pressuring him for an answer that did not concern her. After a few moments, he sighed, and cleared his throat.

“I do not see the point in screaming matches, especially so early in the proceedings. Nothing that was said today will have any long term effect. Better let them exhaust themselves until those of us who spared ourselves can actually get anything done efficiently.” He said, ducking his head.

“Cunning, my Lord,” Sansa answered with a small smile, “and it comes with the added benefit of not getting shouted down.”

He huffed a laugh, nodding slightly, before sobering.

“Also, most of the other lords are – rightfully- wary of my family’s _ambition,_ and I would rather not be seen as a threat. Or making a grab for the throne.” He said, clenching his jaw.

Sansa wondered for a second why he would admit such a thing to someone that was barely more of a stranger, until she got a hold of herself. It was certainly nothing incriminating, and his awareness of his family’s flaws and mistakes was actually commendable. Sansa just had to remind herself that hiding everything that went on inside out of paranoia was not the only way to survive, contrary to what the little voice in her mind whispered. The little voice that sounded suspiciously like Littlefinger.

“Is that why Lady Margaery remained in Highgarden?” She asked, letting nothing show of her thoughts. She couldn’t deny she would have appreciated seeing Margaery again, for nothing else then for companionship.

“Officially? My sister remained in Highgarden to mourn for Father in peace, and take care of Loras.” He said, adopting a more affected accent which Sansa took to be his official voice. “Between the two of us, however,” he added in a lower voice, angling his head ever so slightly towards her, “her reasons might have been similar to why your brother is hiding in the North.”

Sansa hummed in agreement, nodding.

“That’s a shame, I was looking forward to seeing her again. She was a good friend to me when we were both in King’s Landing, even if the outcome was not the one we both wished for.” Sansa said. She didn’t dare directly address the plan that had been drawn to get the both of them married, years ago.

She wondered if he had ever been aware of the plan, and if he had, would he even remember it? It might had been the only keeping twelve years old Sansa moving for a while, but she couldn’t fathom it held any importance to a man such as Lord Willas.

Yet he drew himself taller, blushing slightly, and Sansa wondered.

“I am sure Margaery would love for you to write her, if she cannot join you in person. She could use a friend at the moment.” Willas offered, voice as steady as before despite the color on his cheeks.

When Sansa turned to look at him, her eyes were drawn to how the sun streaming through the windows seemed to streak his warm brown hair with gold. Mesmerized for a second, she forced herself to look away before she seemed rude. She also decided against pushing the subject of their almost wedding. After all, it was in the past. She’d much rather earn the respect of Lord Willas as the ambassador of the North and Lady of Winterfell, than remind him of the helpless twelve years old in need of saving she used to be.

“I think I will do just that. Thank you, my lord.” She said instead.

“You’re welcome, my lady.” He answered.

Silence fell back over them for a few moments until they reached her door. Sansa took her leave with a curtsey and a quiet good night, and Lord Willas bowed in answer.

Once she was alone, she asked her maid to get a tray for her to eat in her chambers. When the woman slipped away, Sansa took a moment to open her window, and breathe in the crisp Winter air. As pleasant as the walk back had been, it was but a drop in the stormy ocean that was the maelstrom of the Grand Council. The silence and stillness of her rooms did wonders for her frayed nerves.

Of course she should have known it wouldn’t last.

A knock on her door surprised her, and Princess Arianne waltzed into the room as soon as Sansa opened it. Sansa stood frozen in shock for a few seconds before clearing her throat.

“Princess Arianne, to what do I-” she started, falling into her courtesies to hide her confusion. Princess Arianne, however dropped gracefully unto one of the chairs in her room, slashing the air sharply with her hand.

“Please, _Lady Sansa,_ let’s stop with such niceties.  We’ll need enough ceremonies to deal with our _esteemed_ colleagues _,_ let’s not get mired in them when in private. Call me Arianne.” She interrupted, smiling at Sansa.

“Oh, well then call me Sansa, I suppose.” Sansa offered tentatively, going back to her seat.

“Perfect! Now, I am sorry for intruding, but if I have to listen to one more evening of Lord Estermont bragging about his last hunt, I fear I will scream.” Arianne said with a playful smile, sprawled comfortably in her chair.

Before Sansa had a chance to answer, there was a small knock on her door, and her maid came back in with a tray of food. If Arianne’s presence surprised her, she didn’t let it show, and brought the food to the small table before taking her leave.

“Ah, food, excellent! I was worried you were letting yourself waste away in this tower by yourself! Arianne said, waving at Sansa to eat with another, softer smile.

“I have no intention to make myself faint, I assure you. I simply find that I am more comfortable in smaller parties.” Sansa explained, hoping to sound reasonable. She offered some of her food to Arianne with a gesture, but the older woman waved her away.

“Of course your do! I can’t even begin to imagine how hard it must be for you to be back here.” Arianne said, tone softening. “Oh, don’t give me that look. Myrcella had more than one tale to tell of how her mother and brother were treating you. Even Oberyn mentioned in one of his letters how melancholy you seemed for a girl of your age.”

Sansa looked away, and took her time swallowing her small bite of food.

“I am here to do right by the North and my family, and I will not fail in my duties because of bad memories.” Sansa said neutrally, not about to mention the nightmares that plagued some of her nights. After all, she had been familiar with restless sleep for far longer than she had been back in King’s Landing.

“And I am sure you will do admirably, Sansa. Much better in fact, than all of those squabbling children who call themselves lords. By the Seven, they would all benefit greatly by following your example. No, Sansa, you are to be admired, and I will hear nothing more on the subject from anyone, least of all yourself.” Arianne decided, leaning forward to put a careful hand on Sansa’s shoulder.

Sansa couldn’t help but be pleased that a woman such as Arianne would find something worthy of respect in her. For a moment, she worried it was all a ploy to manipulate her, but what would the Princess of Dorne have to gain from the Lady of Winterfell? Perhaps Littlefinger might have had suggestions, but Sansa refused. Notwithstanding the history between their families, the North was much too far from Dorne to have much commerce between the two, or for marriage alliances to be useful. Even if a Northerner stuck in sweltering Dorne, or the opposite, was an amusing fancy for Sansa.

“What can I do for you then, my- Arianne?” Sansa caught herself this time, twisting her mouth in self-deprecation. “Have you come to discuss the talks of the day?”

“Oh no, definitely not! Nothing of worth came out of today’s Council, nor is it liable to do so until all these Great Lords will tire themselves out of blaming the others. No, let’s content ourselves with laughing at their ridiculousness during the day, and forgetting about them at night for the moment, don’t you think?” Arianne said, laughing all the while.

Sansa couldn’t help but giggle a little bit also.

“I do believe Lord Tyrell said something to the same effect earlier.” Sansa said, sitting back in her chair, picking at a peach.

“Eat, eat! You need more meat on your bones before you leave back North. Now, Willas Tyrell! That _might_ be a man of some merit. Did you know, I once tried to run away to Highgarden and marry him?” Arianne asked, laughing again.

Sansa felt a smile of surprise pull at her mouth.

“No, I did not. Why would you do such a thing?” she asked, leaning forward.

“Well you see, my father had this plan to make me Queen of the Seven Kingdoms by marrying me off to Viserys Targaryen. The only problem being that he decided _not to tell me about it._ So as he refused offer after offer for my hand, I decided to take matter in my own hands.” Arianne, appreciative of her captivated audience, started waving her hands, as if to mime out the story. “Willas Tyrell was a good friend of my uncle, even after he was injured at his hand, and I figured I could do worse than the _heir_ to Highgarden…”

After she was done with that story, she asked for one of Sansa’s, and they talked thus for hours, until Arianne had to retire for the night, on pain of falling asleep at the Council table the following day. Sansa went to bed that night with a peculiar happy feeling under her ribs, one that she hadn’t felt since Jeyne Pool disappeared from King’s Landing.

 

* * *

 

Sansa walked as quickly as she could manage down the hall, unwilling to look frazzled despite the late hour. One of the maids came to her with a letter from home early that morning, and Sansa had been so eager to read news from her family she quite lost track of time.

As happy as she was to learn that Rickon had agreed to settle down for a few lessons last week, or that Arya had been able to mediate a dispute between the Karstarks and the Umbers, she shouldn’t have let it make her late for the Grand Council.

Sansa heard footsteps, accompanied by the telltale sound of a cane, and slowed down to a more regal pace just in time for Lord Willas to turn the corner of another hall. The man had a tendency to arrive precisely on time, to an almost frightening degree. Sansa let out a relieved sigh, reassured that she was not late.

“Good morning, Lord Willas.” She said, bowing her head in greetings.

“And to you, Lady Sansa.” He answered with a slight smile.

Usually, by the time Lord Willas showed up, some discussions were already on, and there was just no extra attention to be spared on him. Now, Sansa almost laughed when she spied a crease on the side of his face from a pillowcase, as well as his more-curly-than-usual hair.

Willas noticed her amusement, and sighed, using his free hand to try and ruffle his hair into some semblance of order.

“I apologize, my Lady, I am not at my most pristine in the mornings.” He said wryly, looking pointedly ahead.

“It’s lucky then, that you always appear at the exact moment the Council gets underway, my Lord.” She said, amusement lilting up her voice.

The top of Lord Willas’ cheek reddened noticeably, and he cleared his throat.

“That, might not be a coincidence.” He mumbled, and Sansa couldn’t help laughing shortly under her breath.

“That, and being able to sleep longer, I would think?” She said, still looking at him. Maybe she was being a bit too familiar, but Lord Willas had brought up the subject himself.

“I have to admit to not being fond of rising with the sun like _some_ of my esteemed colleagues, Lady Sansa.” He said, finally turning to look at pointedly.

“An old habit, I’m afraid.” Sansa said, accepting the comment with a graceful tilt of the head. “We get so little light in the North compared to the South that we can’t afford to waste any of it.”

“I would think that is a good habit for anyone, even in the Reach. My household was never one to be one to be active at dawn, however, and I could never bring myself to do any differently.” Lord Willas said, good-naturedly.

“Well hopefully you’ll soon be able to go back to Highgarden and sleep your mornings away.” She pondered.

“Not too soon, in all likelihood. I can’t bring myself to mind overly much. I’ve met such interesting people, and I like having a word to say in the future of Westeros.” Willas said. Sansa probably imagined the look he sent her way, but she still hoped she was one of the interesting persons he spoke about.

Before she could ask him more about it, however, they had reached the Council chamber, and Arianne beckoned Sansa over to her, whispering loudly that she had been afraid Sansa would not come today, leaving her alone with the _Lords_.

 

* * *

 

“And _then_ , Lady Yronwood came running out of the guest wing, yelling at the top of her lungs about grapes! Nymeria and I laughed for hours, and she still never suspected a thing!” Arianne recalled, bouncing along the path. Sansa had given up holding on her companion’s arm the very first time they had walked the garden’s together. Arianne had a tendency to talk with her hands.

They turned around a corner, and Sansa almost run into Lord Tyrell. She threw out a hand to help stabilize the man, until Willas waved her away with a rueful smile.

“Lord Tyrell, I am so sorry.” Sansa said, taking a step back.

“It’s nothing, Lady Stark. I was so deep in thoughts, I should have heard the both of you.” He smiled, flattening his doublet.

“Here I was told my entire life I was impossible to ignore.” Arianne quipped.

“I am sure you were, my Lady. The fault is mine, I assure you. My mother always tells me I need to get out of my head.” Lord Willas said, with a self-deprecating smile.

“I see nothing bad in being thoughtful, Lord Willas.” Sansa said. Arianne knocked their shoulders together, looking over at Willas.

“Nothing at all, although I am sure that the company of two _lovely_ women will do wonders in keeping you out of your head all the way up to the dining hall.” Arianne said, including Sansa with a tilt of her head.

“Yet it is unlikely to make me more focused on the path.” Lord Willas answered, although he readily walked up to Sansa’s side. He hesitated on how to offer his one available arm to the two women. Arianne didn’t seem to notice, and Sansa tilted her head towards him.

“I would not suggest holding Princess Arianne’s arm to my worst enemy, my Lord.” She whispered, loud enough for Arianne to turn around and good naturedly roll her eyes at her. Lord Willas huffed a laugh, and offered Sansa his arm.

She took it, feeling a little thrill ring in her gut. In the last week, she had come to appreciate Lord Willas’ calming influence of the Grand Council even more than anticipated. Once everyone accepted he truly had no design towards the throne, he was allowed to act as a pacifying influence. Between his reasonable words and Sansa’s unfailingly cool manners, they were finally starting to move the Grand Council into more productive sessions.

Which meant the real work was only starting.

In this moment, however, Lord Willas’ warmth on her arm and against her side was comforting. Just as his voice, although not as deep as others, was soothing to her nerves. Where Arianne brightened and lightened her moods like only a friend could, Willas Tyrell helped her calm down, settle in her skin.

Sansa knew herself well enough to know she had something of an infatuation for him. Just as she was aware it probably was owed in part to the history between her and his family. More than anything, she _knew_ it would not amount to anything. A Lord of a Great House such as the Tyrells would not want to attach himself to a woman whose previous marriage had yet to be properly dissolved, for all that it hadn’t been consumed.

Despite it all, she couldn’t help but enjoy the fluttering feelings that twirled around her belly when she was close to Lord Willas. She relished in that, for the first time since Joffrey revealed himself for the monster he was, she felt safe enough to care for someone other than family, without fear of it being used against her.

“What were you doing in the gardens alone, Lord Willas?” Sansa asked, as Arianne walked ahead to look more closely at some flower or another.

“I needed some time to think. I’m afraid the proceedings are tiring me out, and sometimes even my brother’s presence can be too much. In Highgarden, when I needed some space away from my family, I would find some secluded bench and hope no one would find me until dinner.” He smiled.

Sansa remembered having to step out into the godswood in Winterfell, when they were all waiting for news of the war against the White Walkers.

“And did they?” She asked, looking at him.

“Find me? That depended on why I needed some space. On the rare occasion I was angry, they left alone me to calm back down. If I needed to think, Margaery usually came to find me, to help me sort it out. She was a smart kid, and she wanted to learn. If I was upset, it was Garlan. Especially after the leg.” He said, growing quiet.

“That sounds lovely. You are lucky, my Lord.” Sansa said, as a blunt knife of pain twisted in her gut. Willas obviously noticed her tensing, and cursed under his breathe, realizing his mistake.

“That was incredibly thoughtless of me, with your brothers- My Lady, I can’t apologize enough.” He bowed his head, and made to move away, until she tugged him back.

“If I wasn’t comfortable talking about your family, my Lord, I wouldn’t have asked.” Sansa’s voice was quiet, but brook not arguments. She demanded to be trusted to know her mind.

“You are right, Lady Sansa.” He simply replied, relaxing back against her side, offering her a slight smile.

“When I was young, whenever I was upset, Robb would sit by my side and tell me stories about knights and battles.” She said, deciding to give him a small story about her family in return for his. “He wasn’t very good at it. He was too serious to do the voices, and he usually forgot some part of it, but he would do it anyway. That he cared cheered my up more than the stories. Like when he’d take Bran and Arya riding out in the Wolf Wood until they were laughing again.”

“I wish I could have met him.” Willas said.

“I wish I could know the man he would have grown into.” She simply answered. Robb could have been so much more. Father could have been so much more.

“Look at the two of you! I leave you for half a moment, and suddenly you are both sadder than a rock. I swear, what would the two of you do without me?” Arianne exclaimed, striding back to them. She grabbed Sansa’s other arm, and chattered the rest of the way.

Yet, for all the melancholy she felt after talking about Robb, she felt lighter for having shared it with Lord Willas. For someone outside of her family to know about the boy her brother used to be.


	2. Friendships

Sansa was in the library, hiding in the furthest corner from the door, shaking and pale. The Grand Council had agreed not to meet for the day, and thus Tyrion and Sansa had gone to find the Grand Septon to officially ask for their marriage to be dissolved. Seeing the Sept of Baelor was even more upsetting than Sansa expected, but she had managed to control herself and look away. But then, what should have been a simple legal procedure was made shameful and upsetting when the darned man demanded for her to be inspected, to make sure her maidenhead was intact.

Tyrion had categorically refused, and the new Grand Septon didn’t have enough influence yet in King’s Landing to push against one of the most important Lords in Westeros, but he raised enough of a fuss to make Sansa feel sick. In the end, her cold stare and Tyrion’s cutting disdain were too much to bear, and the papers were signed and ratified, but Sansa was silent all the way back to the Red Keep, and slipped away as soon as she could. She was in such a turmoil she couldn’t even enjoy the fact that she was officially Sansa Stark once again. The only thing she understood at the moment was that she needed to find a quiet corner to gather herself. Thus to the library she went, having never had the leisure to spend much time there before.

 She had found a book of poetry written by about the North and curled herself in a comfortable seat by a window, and attempted to loose herself in memories of her home. Sansa was trying so hard to focus on the words that she barely noticed Lord Willas’ approach until he turned the corner.

“Oh, Lady Sansa! I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were there.” He exclaimed with a short bow. He did seem surprised, and Sansa smiled.

“There’s nothing to apologize for, Lord Willas. I am after all not often in the Library. I needed some quiet.” She explained, hoping she looked less upset than she was.

“It’s a good spot for that, Lady Sansa. Even the librarians rarely come back here.” He answered, rocking ever so slightly, like he didn’t know what to do with himself. Sansa inhaled, looking around.

“Oh! I invaded your reading spot, didn’t I?” She realized, feeling guilty,

“No, you didn’t! I mean, you did, but it’s not a problem, really!” He said quickly, eyes wide. “You need peace just as much as I. There are plenty of other seats.”

Sansa frowned ever so slightly, still feeling guilty, and waved at the chair in front of her.

“Yes there is, such as this one right there.” She stated, tone brooking no argument. “I would hate to push you out of your own haven when I am enjoying it. I’m sure we can read in silence in each other’s company just as well as alone.”

He hesitated only for a moment more before relenting, eyes never leaving her. Sansa reasoned he wasn’t eager to give up a hidden spot. There were so little of the Red Keep that was not always swarmed with servants, guests and minor Lords and Ladies. Peace was to be enjoyed and preserved.

Nothing more was said as Willas sat down with a grateful smile and opened his own book. Sansa went back to her poetry, but once in a while would throw a quick look at Lord Willas, who was by all appearances engrossed. Sansa appreciated the way his eyes would sharpen whenever he read something particularly interesting, or the way his fingers would absently twitch as he tried to make sense of what was written.

The light of the Winter sun seemed to warm Sansa up for the first time that day, at last, and she wondered at the worth of silent companionship.

In between poems, she would tell time by the light painting the side of Lord Willas’ face, shifting from white to gold. Eventually, when the sun had almost disappeared, her stomach grumbled, demanding sustenance, despite how unappealing leaving this alcove had become.

Yet the idea of someone else coming to find her, and interrupting this moment seemed even worse. This would be hers and Lord Willas’. As long as Sansa could manage it.

 

* * *

 

“Sansa!” Arianne called out, striding to her as Willas and she were leaving the library. Ever since the day she and Tyrion had officially separated, they had met to read together every few days.

They were not planning so, but as far as Sansa could tell Lord Willas was there most days. After all, every time she decided to join him, he would already be seated with his nose in a book. Sometimes they merely read in silence. Others, they would discuss their respective books, or even read together. It was enjoyable, calming, and it was certainly not helping Sansa with her infatuation. Regardless, she had no intention of stopping, not when it lit up a warm fire under her ribs and helped her deal with the stress of the Grand Council.

Not one to be dissuaded by Sansa’s daydreams, Arianne grabbed her arm, and wrapped her own around it. Only then did she also greet Lord Willas, with a little curtsey and a friendly smile.

“Now Sansa, as you know, tomorrow we are freed from the blasted Council – present company excluded, of course – and I was wondering if you would do me the favor of spending the day in my company?” Arianne asked, not taking one breathe.

“I do believe this is my cue to take my leave, my ladies.” Lord Willas said not without amusement, bowing as low as his leg would allow.

“Do not worry, Lord Willas, I assure you, Sansa will be back to _enjoying_ your charming company the day after tomorrow.” Arianne quipped with a knowing look between the two of them. Lord Willas’ eyes widened just as suddenly as Sansa’s cheek flamed to a warm pink.

“Arianne!” She scolded gently. There was nothing between Lord Willas and she to warrant this kind of tone, and the last thing she wanted was to scare the poor man away by way of unfounded rumors.

Lord Willas wisely decided that the best way to go was a strategic retreat, and took his leave with another bow. He still had a warm smile for Sansa, reassuring her that he would not forsake her company.

Arianne, however, seemed concerned that she had acted wrongly.

“I am sorry, Sansa, I didn’t mean to insinuate anything.” She said with a guilty twist of her mouth. Sansa recalled that the customs when it came to romantic entanglements were much different in Dorne than in the North. She smiled at Arianne, putting a reassuring hand on her arm, willing the color to fade from her cheeks.

“There was no harm done, Arianne. I was simply taken aback.” Sansa said. Unwilling to be drawn into further talks of Lord Willas at the moment, she changed the subject. “Now, what do you have planned for us tomorrow?”

Arianne groaned, rolling her eyes and throwing her head back. Sansa giggled at her friend’s dramatic antics.

“Anything, I swear, anything! I need to get away from this blasted castle, and those blasted Lords.” She grumbled, shaking her head.

“Has Lord Estermont been difficult again?” Sansa asked, familiar by now with most of her friend’s woes.

“Yes, of course, but no more than usual. I am simply tired of being stuck here. This building is so closed off, I feel trapped! I need to feel the wind on my skin! I have barely seen the sea since I came here, and I miss it.” She said, waving her hand around. “I would go down to the beach for the day, get away from all this chaos, and I was hoping you would accompany me?”

Sansa barely had to think it over. Winterfell had been landlocked, just as the Eyrie. The last time she had seen the sea was when she took a boat to White Arbor, after she left the Vale to rejoin Winterfell.

“I would love to! Although I fear you will find the water much colder than in Dorne.” She warned her friend with a laugh.

“Well then we shall both be in our element! I will have the sea, you will have the cold! Arianne promised, beaming at her.

They ate together in Arianne’s rooms that evening, as the Princess ordered her maids and guards to prepare what was necessary for their little expedition the next morning.

Which was how Sansa found herself standing on the beach, eyes closed, breathing in deeply as the cold wind whipped her face. The smell of salt and algae was unfamiliar, despite having travelled a few weeks by boat, but the crispness of Winter was the same everywhere.  

When they had arrived, Arianne had walked to the water, dipped one toe in the waves and turned around, sprinting back with a shout. She then wrapped herself in multiple blankets and furs, claiming that _hearing_ the sea was enough to sooth her nerves. After a few moments, Sansa walked back to sit beside her on the blanket that had been laid down for them.

Arianne looked up from the basket she was rummaging through. She handed Sansa an orange, and leaned back.

“You are an enigma, Sansa Stark.” She stated, amused.

“Am I?” Sansa asked curiously, carefully peeling her orange.

“Here I am, freezing, and you seem to be _thawing,_ of all things.” Arianne said, tilting her head.

“Have I been so cold to you that I need to thaw?” Sansa asked, mildly worried she had unwillingly insulted her friend.

“Cold? No, but guarded, perhaps. Nothing unexpected, of course, but if I had known the key to get you to relax was to get you cold, I would have put out a few fires.” Arianne joked, nudging Sansa with her shoulder.

“The cold reminds me of home. It remind me of Summer snows and playing with my siblings. The cold seems safe, I suppose.” Sansa said, popping a piece of orange in her mouth.

“Spoken like a true Stark. Here’s to the cold, and those of us who can enjoy it. The Seven know I certainly can’t.” Arianne raised her glass in a toast, and Sansa obliged happily.

“We can go back if you would like to get warm.” Sansa offered, if somewhat reluctantly.

“Not on your life! Hand me that other blanket over there, and I’ll be as warm as a desert snake.” Arianne said resolutely. Sansa wrapped the last blanket over her shoulders. “Here, you see? Perfect. The warm bath waiting for us will only be more enjoyable, don’t you think?”

Sansa couldn’t help but agree.

“Winterfell was built on top of warm springs. That way, no matter how cold the weather got, the castle was always warm. Even my mother, from the Riverlands, was comfortable in her rooms. When we spent a lot of time outside, playing in the snow, we’d go back and bath in private springs, reserved for the family.” Sansa said, remembered the relief Jon and she felt when they discovered the warm spring rooms under the keep had been untouched despite the destruction of the rest of the building.

“Ha! I knew there had to be a trick to living in the North! I do think I could deal with the cold if I could have as many warm baths as I wished.” Arianne quipped.

“Only Winterfell has such springs, Arianne. There are keeps even farther north, like the Last Hearth or Castle Black, where people live without such luxuries.” Sansa corrected with a small laugh.

“Bleh, they are braver men that I will ever be. Let’s stop talking of the cold when we are already freezing. I could speak of the deserts of Dorne, see if that would do the trick.” Arianne offered, fishing for another orange.

“Regardless, I would like to hear about it.” Sansa said, curling her legs under her.

 

* * *

 

“I think it’s regrettable that the Faith allowed for the Sparrows to take over the land, especially when Westeros was already in such turmoil.” Willas said as he and Sansa walked around the gardens.

Arianne had to take her leave right after the Council adjourned for the day, claiming she had letters to write home. Then Harry Hardyng had started a commotion with Edmure that had blocked their way to the library, and the both of them had swiftly decided to walk the gardens instead.

“I’m sure they were eager to regain some power, but it’s puzzling they would think that such actions were ever justified, or would serve them in the long term.” Sansa offered carefully. Willas opened his mouth to answer, before squinting at her.

“Do you follow the Seven, my Lady?” Willas asked. His tone was only curious, and so Sansa felt comfortable in answering truthfully.

“I do. I also follow the Old Gods. I was raised learning about both, and never considered them mutually exclusive. The Faith I learned about growing up, however, was not always the same I found in the South.” She said.

Willas nodded.

“It seems so foreign to me, worshipping the Old Gods. Bowing before a tree, praying without a Septon or a Septa to guide you. But perhaps the connection is truer, just you and your gods. And perhaps some of our troubles might have been avoided without corrupt members of the Faith trying to use the devotion of the people to grab for power. Without intermediary, the Old Gods can’t become a political object.” Willas mused.

“Maybe not, but they are much more obscure. It is said First Men knew them, but they have since been lost to the centuries. Now we only know the weirwoods, and hope we are not praying to nothing. The Seven always felt more concrete to me.” Sansa explained.

Willas simply nodded, deep in thought. After a moment of silence, he seemed to shake himself, and turned to smile at her.

“Thank you for indulging me with this discussion, Lady Sansa. I know it is not the most interesting topic.” He said, apologetic.

“I hardly think understanding the beliefs that lead the people of Westeros through their lives can be considered uninteresting.” Sansa said, looking over to him. She had observed, through her life, that how people behaved in a Sept, and which of the Seven they prayed to could tell her much of who they were.

Herself included.

“That is true. I apologize for misunderstanding your interest, I am not used to people discussing such matters with me.” Willas said, self-deprecating smile.

“Margaery did say you were a pious man.” Sansa answered with a quirk of the lips.

“She did? I did not know she spoke of me in her letters.” Willas asked, curious.

Sansa chuckled, and shook her head. Margaery wrote many things in her letters, but of Willas she spoke carefully, nothing beyond asking about his health –‘ _He would never tell me if he took ill, and Garlan can be distracted at times’-_ or how she was pleased they were getting along so well. Margaery was usually more interested in describing the beauties of Highgarden, or how Loras was doing, or a funny anecdote about a visiting lord.

“She doesn’t really, my Lord. She told me a few years ago.” Sansa said. Only then did she remember they had been speaking of Willas because they were to be married, and Sansa blushed. The failed marriage had been pushed far away from her mind since she had gotten to know the real Willas Tyrekk, but it still seemed unseemly to mention it to him.

“And you still remember? I would not have thought myself that important.” Willas spoke resolutely neutrally, and Sansa wished she could know what he was thinking. Yet he had not tensed, nor pulled away.

“You were the brother of a dear friend, and I always endeavored to remember what I can about fellow nobles. My mother said that a good Lady should remember as much as she can about her acquaintances, to ease conversation.” Sansa spoke carefully, wishing to appear detached but not uncaring. After all, no matter what her feelings about him might have been when she was twelve, she was very fond of him now, and didn’t want to insult him.

“Your mother was a wise woman, full of wisdoms I wish I followed. I was always more comfortable around horses and hawks than other people, and I’m afraid it shows more than I would like.” Willas said, willingly using the out Sansa had offered.

“I assure you, most perceive it as poise and thoughtfulness rather than awkwardness, my Lord.” Sansa reassured him, patting him arm.

“Thank the Old Gods and the New for small mercies.” Willas said, with a laugh. Sansa did the same, and followed his lead as they walked back to the Keep.

 

* * *

 

“This is ridiculous!” Arianne shouted as she paced around Sansa’s solar. “Completely ridiculous! We’ve been here over a month, and we still haven’t gotten anything done!”

Sansa took a sip of her wine before speaking.

“That’s not true. I have renewed trade and peace agreements with the Vale, the Riverlands, the Westerlands and the Reach.” Sansa pointed out. The only reason she hadn’t also done so with Arianne was that, in the middle of winter, Dorne was just too far for any kind of profitable trade with Winterfell. Once Spring came, it would be easier to reconsider.

“Which might be for naught if they all end up electing a King that wants to be dick and undoes it all!” Arianne shouted, throwing her hands in the air. “Half of them are still hoping your brother will change his mind, and the rest all pushing for their personal puppets to gain the favor. Except it’s been a month, and we haven’t moved an inch on the subject.”

“Westeros needs to be rebuilt.” Sansa said, deep in thought.

“Exactly. And that won’t happen unless we can figure out what to do with the blasted Iron Monstrosity.” Arianne groused, throwing herself on a chair.

“Who would you see on the Throne, Arianne? It’s been a month, as you said, and I have yet to hear you vouch for anyone.” Sansa asked, looking at her friend sharply. Littlefinger had always said that everyone had an agenda, yet Sansa didn’t know what Arianne’s was in the matter of the Crown.

“If I had my way? No one. Dorne was independent and happy longer than any of the other realms, and still remembers it.” Arianne said, morose. “As it is, I would accept any fool that would know enough to leave us mostly alone.”

Sansa felt an idea jolt in her head.

“The North would also be glad to be rid of the Iron Throne. It was certainly eager to elect Robb King.” Sansa mused, thinking hard. Arianne leaned forward, squinting at her.

“So what, the North and Dorne proclaim their independence while the crown is weak, and hope they don’t try and conquer us back ten years from now? We are the smallest kingdoms, Sansa, and much too distant from each other to be military allies.” Arianne countered, but Sansa could see she was interested.

“We don’t need to be independent from the crown, if there is no crown. Think about it. Until 300 years ago, the kingdoms were all separate. The only reason they united was because the Targaryens had the dragon fire to force us together. Now the Targaryens and their dragons are gone, and the whole experience of a united continent wasn’t exactly a success. What is stopping us from all returning to independent kingdoms, except for the greed of a few nobles?” Sansa said, with more and more conviction as she spoke. She felt a perverse joy in hammering the last nail in the coffin of Littlefinger’s dream, while helping Robb’s come to life.

“Tradition?” Arianna offered half-heartedly.

“What’s 300 years to the millennia of history that came before?” Sansa argued. “You said it yourself, Dorne remembers it was independent, and so does the North.”

“Peace?” Arianne said, considering.

“Things were not exactly always peaceful under the Targaryens even when they had their dragons, never mind since.” Sansa said. “On top of that, any one candidate that wants the Throne as of now would probably need to fight a war to gain it. None of us have any inclination to take back arms.”

“Do you think they would accept it?” Arianne asked.

“Most of them have no claim to the Iron Throne. This way, they all get a crown, and the feeling of going back home with a victory. Other than a title, nothing much changes.” Sansa shrugged. _She_ knew the North would rejoice in Rickon becoming King without bending the knee to the Iron Throne.

She would honor Robb’s memory and spit on Baelish’s.

“You know what, Sansa Stark? This might just be the answer we have been looking for!” Arianne proclaimed, smiling. She offered her glass to Sansa, who gladly toasted it.

Was the solution really to be that simple?

 

* * *

 

Of course, it turned out not to be _quite_ that easy. There was such an uproar when Arianne brought their idea to the Grand Council that Sansa almost left the room until they calmed down. Only Arianne’s white-knuckled grip on her hand convinced her to stay and defend their ideas.

Yet, after hours of arguments, more and more lords seemed to reach similar conclusions as they did, both about the viability of such a prospect and about how much most they stood to gain if the Iron Throne remained empty.

One whose support Sansa had counted on, however, given his reluctance on speaking in the matter of succession, remained conspicuously silent. Lord Willas spoke even less than he usually did in the Grand Council. Only when they settled down to figure out the details of the new political system did he find his voice again.

Sansa was doubly troubled by Lord Willas’ silence because he seemed to be avoiding her outside of the Council as well. He was never in the Library or the gardens, and seemed to be spending most of his evenings in his room with his brother and the rest of his party. Sansa felt his loss acutely, especially after tiring arguments, when she would have liked to discuss her ideas with him, or simply read together.

Because the days were thrilling but exhausting. Sansa finally felt like she was making a difference, pushing the Seven Kingdoms forward. As the ones who first introduced the idea, the Lords often sought Arianne’s and her opinion on an issue before anyone else’s. After each session, they would meet to talk about the day and figure out their strategy for the next meeting. The morning after, it would all start again.

After a week of discussion and negotiations, it was agreed that the Seven Kingdoms of old would regain their independence from the Iron Throne. Each of them would have the responsibility to uphold the peace with their neighbors, but would be free to rule as they wished over their land. King’s Landing and the Crownlands would remain neutral territory, where would sit in permanence a Council with representative from each Kingdom to help settle disputes between independent realms. It would also be a place to address issues concerning the whole of Westeros, such as threats coming from the east.

Every King or Queen of the Seven Kingdoms would be considered equal to the others.

So it was done.

All the members of the Grand Council signed the accord, and it was agreed that they would wait for half a year until they announced the new status-quo to the people, to give each Kingdom the time to organize amongst themselves, and send their ambassadors to King’s Landing.

Suddenly, after weeks of turmoil and work, there was nothing more for Sansa to do than to write Winterfell to tell them she was coming back with important news. Without breaking her stride, she asked her party to be ready to depart in 4 days’ time, and sat herself down to write to Jon and Arya.

She had just signed both missives when a knock came to her door. She opened it to find Arianne, more subdued than she had ever been, and stepped aside to let her in.

“My dear Sansa, I’ve come to bid you goodbye.” She said, taking Sansa’s hands.

“So soon?” Sansa asked, confused and upset, searching her friend’s face for any trace of humor.

“I’m afraid my people are eager to get out of the cold, and I daresay there are much less preparations to be made to travel south than to go north in the middle of the Winter.” Arianne answered with a regretful smile.

Arianne drew Sansa to the chairs by the window of her solar and made her sit down.

“Be that as it may, I would hate for you to leave underprepared.” Sansa worried, trying to understand how Arianne would be ready by the next day.

“It appears some of my companions had anticipated the end of the Council, and had already started to prepare. And informed my dear cousins of my imminent departure. I would rather not worry any of them by delaying.” Arianne explained as she rolled her eyes. From anyone else, Sansa might have thought those words to be trite excuses, but Arianne’s expression was genuinely sorry and sad to be leaving so suddenly. Therefore, Sansa took a deep bracing breath and offered her friend a warm smile.

“Then I suppose there’s nothing to be done for it. I will be gone four days’ time in any case. I just wished we had more time before we had to say goodbye.” Sansa said, looking down at their hands.

Both of them knew that is was unlikely they would ever meet again, and Sansa’s chest tightened at the thought.

“As did I, Sansa. But distance is nothing to good friends. I do hope you will find the time to write me.” Arianne asked tentatively.

“Only if you promise to do the same.” Sansa smiled. “I would love to hear about the life of the Queen of Dorne.”

“And I the life of a _Princess_ of Winterfell.” Arianne quipped. Sansa knew she was still thought it preposterous that the title of King would go to Rickon rather than Sansa, especially since the boy wasn’t yet 7, but Sansa understood it would take time to change the North.

“And who knows,” Arianne added with a curious twinkle in her eye, “you might find a reason to come back South at some point.”

Sansa felt herself blush without knowing exactly why, and tried to laugh the comment off.

“Indeed, I might just miss Lord Estermont’s hunting stories so much that I will have to come back.” She said with a smirk.

Arianne threw her head back to burst out a laugh, and just like that, the sadness was swept away until the next morning, when Sansa rose with the sun to see Arianne and her companions off.

 

* * *

 

“Lord Willas!” Sansa called, as she walked along a path in the garden the day after Arianne’s departure. Feeling useless in the midst of her maids packing her clothes for the travel north, she had decided to come admire the flowers while she still could.

She didn’t expect to meet Lord Willas, who had been avoiding being in public since Arianne and Sansa brought the idea to grant the Seven Kingdoms their independence. Yet here he was, and Sansa was glad she would have the opportunity to say goodbye. Lord Willas had been a good friend, even with his recent aloofness.

“Lady Sansa! It’s good to see you.” He said earnestly.

“Likewise, my lord. Would you like to walk with me? You’ve been missed these last few days.” Sansa said, gesturing to the path. Lord Willas hesitated for less than a moment before graciously bowing his head and offering her his arm.

Sansa thought they walked even slower they usually did to spare his leg, as if they both wished to stretch this moment. No, she scolded herself. Lord Willas was probably simply tired.

“I wanted to apologize for being, ah, less available recently.” Lord Willas said after a few minutes of silence. Sansa looked at him, finding him resolutely staring ahead.

“There is nothing to apologize for, my Lord. We have all been busy preparing our travels home.” Sansa said. She thought to leave it here, but couldn’t stop herself. Perhaps Arianne’s friendship had made her bolder. “Although, I couldn’t help but notice you seemed – disturbed, perhaps? Is everything well in Highgarden?”

“Yes! Yes, you don’t have to worry. I simply needed to think things through. I might have mentioned before I can get lost in my own head at times.” Lord Willas explained with a wry smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You have. Whatever it was that was troubling you, I hope you made sense of it.” She added, deciding against prying further. As fond as she was of Lord Willas, she was certainly not going to pester him into revealing more than he was comfortable.

Yet he remained tense under her arm, until a long sigh violently burst out of him. He stopped walking, rubbing at his eyes.

“I never wanted a crown.” He murmured so quietly Sansa thought she might have misheard. “I never especially wanted _Highgarden._ I would have been just as happy as a second son, left to find my own fulfillment with my horses and my books.”

Understanding blossomed in Sansa as words seemed to flow out of him faster than he could control them.

“I learned how to be the Lord of Highgarden from my parents, and I love taking care of the people of the Reach, and I _do._ But _this._ ” His hand left his eyes to fall limply by his side. His eyes were lost as they stared at the ground as if it could give him the answers he needed.

“How ironic is it that my family almost lost everything for Margaery to get a crown, and now one is just handed to me?” He whispered, finally looking up at her, pleading for guidance. “How could I ever be _enough_ to bear such a weight?”

Tortured by the doubt in his eyes, by his doubt of himself, Sansa step forward, covering the hand clutching at his cane with one of her own.

“Maybe being king is too heavy burden for any man, Lord Willas. Many greats have crumbled under their crown. But many have also done a lot of good with it. If _I_ should trust anyone with a throne, it wouldn’t be to someone strong and valiant. It would be to a man that is kind and wise, such as you.” She said gently, but with great conviction, holding his eyes the whole time.

She knew as she spoke that she was being too bold, showing too much of herself, but she couldn’t bear to let him suffer thus. Not when a few words might soothe his soul.

Lord Willas stared at her without a sound for a long moment, but Sansa refused to wilt under his eyes. She had meant what she said, and the decision of what to do with them was his.

At last, he seemed to gather himself, and he spoke hoarsely.

“Thank you, my lady. Your belief in me means more than you can know. I’ll leave you now, I wouldn’t want to take too much of your time.” He gave her a jerky bow, and turned to walk away as fast as his bad leg allowed.

Sansa could have easily caught up with him, but she wouldn’t impose her company on someone who didn’t desire it. Especially a friend. Instead, she closed her eyes, and tried to quench the sparks of disappointment that flurried in her belly. She knew this was always to be the outcome of her infatuation. With luck, her words would help Lord Willas, and something good would come out of this. For her, the quiet and handsome lord of Highgarden would have to remain a warm memory as she went back to Winterfell.

She hoped he would remember her fondly as well.

 

* * *

 

The morning air was crisp as Sansa’s entourage gathered in the Red Keep’s courtyard, finally ready to leave for Winterfell. Sansa stood in the middle of the whirlwind of her maids and guards, looking up at the Maiden Vault. This might very well be the last time she ever saw it, and she couldn’t bring herself to be sad about it. The only good memories of this place she had were made with people who also lived far away from it. There would be nothing left of her in King’s Landing, except for the occasional nightmare.

“Lady Sansa!”

Sansa turned, surprised as she heard her name being called, and found Lord Willas walking towards her. She had never seen him up so early in all their acquaintance, and yet he seemed less disheveled than usual, if more tired.

“Lord Willas, to what do I owe the honor?” She asked politely, butterflies flitting around her belly. She had been sure their talk in the gardens would be their last one, and his unsuspected appearance was pleasantly unsettling.

“Lady Sansa, I was – _hoping,_ we might talk for a moment before you left?” Lord Willas asked, more uncertain than she had ever known him.

“Of course!” She agreed, walking with him to a quieter corner of the courtyard. When they reached a spot of shadow, she didn’t have the time to ask him what this was about before he started talking.

“I am sorry for cornering you in this manner, my Lady, but I didn’t want to write this in a letter. I- what I mean to say is-” Lord Willas started, before he grunted, shaking his head as if to clear it. With a deep breath, he started over. “I do not claim to understand how the North functions, my Lady, or how necessary you might be in Winterfell now that your younger brother is to be King, but I wanted you to know that should you ever desire to come back south, I would gladly welcome you in Highgarden.”

Sansa was taken by surprise, and for a moment recalled Arianne’s words right before she left. She pushed them away from her mind, and smiled at Lord Willas.

“The offer is very kind, and appreciated, but- What would a Northern Princess be worth in the Reach, your Grace?” She asked warmly, intending it as a soft joke to ease their parting. She didn’t think it would be safe for her heart to visit Highgarden.

But Lord Willas frowned, knuckles white around the handle of his cane.

“A Northern Princess gracing me with her company would be worth all the roses in my castle. A Northern Queen to rule by my side would be worth every stone in Highgarden, all of my soul, my heart and my devotion.” He said breathed ardently.

Sansa felt her body seize up as she stared at him, not trusting that she had heard true. Yet there was a hope in his eyes that did not lie. And Sansa didn’t know what to do.

She had known she was infatuated with Willas after barely a week, and had enjoyed the freedom to feel as she wished without fear. She had felt proud that she could fancy another man after the horrors of Joffrey and the trials of the Vale.

She had protected the small flame inside her belly, celebrated it, but never had she considered Lord Willas might feel it too.

After all, Sansa was aware of what others saw when they looked at her. She was the icy daughter of a dead destitute Lord. She was the weak girl that had been tortured and disrobed in front of the Royal Court. She was the joke that had been married to the Imp against her will.

Yet here was a warm and kind man, who was to be King, who wanted to marry her despite it all.

And Sansa couldn’t move a muscle.

Willas’ eyes seemed to lose some of their brightness as seconds passed without any answer from Sansa. Had they always been so warm and golden? Sansa couldn’t remember, and wished she had been paying more attention. It wouldn’t do for such beautiful eyes to be remembered full of sadness. Eventually he took a step back with a tight smile.

“Fair travels, Lady Sansa.” He whispered without looking her in the eyes.

A part of Sansa screamed at her to catch him, to accept, to tell him yes and to tell him how she cared for him.

Another part demanded that she wait until she knew. Until she knew herself, until she knew him, until she knew the North was safe and stable, until she knew she wouldn’t lose what was left of her family over another pleasant face.

And so, Lady Sansa put back her mask of ice, and climbed into the wagon that would take her _home,_ her chest aching at the memory of Lord Willas’ pain.


	3. Family

As her party slowly made its way through the Riverlands, Sansa felt like her head and heart were trapped halfway between Winterfell and Highgarden. One minute she’d be longing for home so strongly she thought she could smell the sentinel pines. The other she was ripped thousands of miles away to imagine herself by Lord Willas’ side, basking in the sunlight of the Reach. Nearly a week of sleepless nights and torturous days passed before she was able to come to a decision about how to address her own dilemma.

She couldn’t give Lord Willas an answer yet, not when there were still so much she didn’t know, but she couldn’t suffer to leave him without any news. In light of this realization, as soon as they met a keep that had a sufficient rookery to reach Highgarden, she sat down to write a letter.

_To King Willas of Highgarden,_

_I am writing you this letter to apologize for my dreadful response to your most kind offer, back at King’s Landing. It pains me to think you might think me indifferent, or worse, opposed to it. I assure you that nothing is further from the truth. My silence was due to surprise, not a lack of feelings._

_Yet such might be the problem. No matter how much I have appreciated your company during the Council, I realized that I do not know you as much as I want to. If I had, perhaps I would not have been as blindsided by your intentions._

_I also realized that if I do not know you as much as I would like, you probably know me less than you ought a woman you would take as a wife._

_I cannot give you an answer yet. Perhaps not in a while. However, I would very much like to get to know you better, and for you to know me. You are a good man, who I trust not to judge me._

_I’m afraid, however, that it will be impossible for me to get your answers, if you chose to answer, until I reach Winterfell._

_With affection,_

_Sansa Stark_

She sent the letter that very night, and rode away with her party the next morning. At last, Sansa felt she could breathe better with the words no longer pressing down her chest.

Afterwards, she took care to send a letter every time they stopped at a keep with a raven for Highgarden, which happened less than she would wish it…

_Lord Willas,_

_Today, I came across a lord that had known my mother as a girl. He told me how he had thought I was her for a minute, until he remembered he was old. It delighted my heart so, I forgot my sadness for a few hours as he told me stories of how she would love to swim in the river by his keep as a child._

_She still did as an adult, and would spend hours in the warm springs under Winterfell. She made sure me and all my siblings knew how to swim, no matter how far we lived from any water._

_It felt good to reminisce about her in a happy manner._

_With regards,_

_Sansa Stark_

_Lord Willas,_

_Nothing happened recently unless you wish me to describe mud, but I wouldn’t forgive myself if let pass one of the few chances I have to write you. I figured I might talk to you about Lady. You told me often about your hounds, and yet I failed to speak of my own companion._

_Surely you heard of Robb’s direwolf, who fought by his side?_

_I had one as well. She was named Lady, and I raised her to proudly deserve her name. She would sit by my side, and politely eat from my fingers, and let me brush her coat every night. I loved her with all my heart, and brought her with me when we left for King’s Landing._

_She died, under the order of the Queen, for a crime she didn’t commit. Arya’s wolf, Nymeria, had attacked Joffrey to defend Arya and one of her friend. Arya, fearing retribution, chased Nymeria away, but Cersei wanted a direwolf’s head to repay for Joffrey’s injury, so she forced my father to kill Lady._

_It should have been enough for me to realize the monsters Cersei and Joffrey were, yet I remember only how angry at Arya I was, how sure I was that this was all her fault._

_With Regards,_

_Sansa Stark_

_Lord Willas,_

_We passed Moat Cailin today. We are back in the North. It’s probably all in my head, but the air seems to smell different here. Purer, cleaner. Perhaps because I was raised with it, but there is nothing like it._

_Except perhaps Highgarden’s, which I was told always smells of flowers._

_With affection,_

_Sansa Stark_

_Lord Willas,_

_I keep trying to find something to say, but I can’t. Nightmares have plagued me dreadfully for the last week, and I am so tired I can barely keep my eyes open._

_Yet I am fearful of going to sleep. Every time I do, I seem to be back on the steps of the Sept of Baelor’s as Joffrey asks for my father’s head, or in the Red Keep’s audience room as he orders the King’s Guard to rip my clothes away. I feel Meryn Trant slam the flat of his sword on my back. I remember everything he threatened to do to me, even after he cast me aside in favor of your sister._

_I had thought I was getting better, but it seems the Lannisters will haunt me for the rest of my life._

_Lord Willas,_

_I apologize for how dreadful my last letter was. I was too tired to think clearly. My nights have been peaceful since, and I must tell you of the lord of the last keep we visited. It was a small thing, barely more than a large house, and he was evidently not expecting my visit._

_He was so surprised in fact, that he ran out of the door to greet us straight from his bath, having obviously barely taken the time to grab his pants and his cloak. The entire courtyard did their best to proceed as if nothing was amiss, until his younger daughter came out and burst out laughing._

_All of us followed suit, of course! I can’t remember when last my face hurt from smiling too much. It’s a good feeling._

_With affection,_

_Sansa Stark_

As she wrote about small and larger things, Sansa felt her soul grow ever lighter. There was something infinitely freeing about revealing parts of herself without having to face her interlocutor. Despite knowing Lord Willas would not judge her, now only she seemed to be able to speak without dread him doing so. It felt good, to be known, even in her darker corners.

A smaller, frightened part of her was also glad that she would not have to see the moment her baggage became too much, the moment he decided she had been hurt one to many time to take her as a wife.

 

* * *

 

It was a sunny day when Sansa walked into Winterfell at last. Wintertown had been full of life as they walked through it, and the castle’s courtyard seemed to be much the same. Most important, however, were the people standing at the door of the Great Hall.

As soon as she caught sight of Jon, Arya and Rickon, Sansa forgot all of the weariness of the travel, and ran to them, throwing herself into Jon’s arms with a gleeful smile. Arya and Rickon laughed and joined the hug at Sansa’s urging, and the four of them held onto each other for long moments.

“Welcome home, Sansa.” Arya bid as they parted. Heart full of joy and love, Sansa took a step back to look at them. Arya seemed to be finally gaining back some weight, Jon was letting his hair run long, and Rickon had grown _so much_ since Sansa last saw him.

“It’s so good to see you all again!” Sansa said through her wide smile.

“Sansa, Sansa! Come see what Jon made me for my room!” Rickon demanded, grabbing her arm and dragging her inside the keep. Sansa willingly followed, taking Arya’s hand as she went, lest her younger sister try to slip away so soon.

She shouldn’t have worried, because Arya pressed close to her, unwilling to split up again. Jon walked on Arya’s other side, dark eyes dancing with happiness.

“What news from the South, sister?” Jon asked quietly, his joy more subdued than the other’s but no less genuine.

“Only good news, Jon.” Sansa assured him. There would be time to talk about her own trip later. For now, she wanted to see all of the good work that had been done in Winterfell.

Arya and Jon gladly gave her a tour, as Rickon kept a running commentary of variable relevance. Sansa felt pride as she saw all the cracks from the fire had been patched up, and all the wood structures were rebuilt. Every window had glass to fill it, every essential room had the minimal furnishing to be of use.

Winterfell was once more warm and comfortable as it had been as a child.

Her own rooms, in her absence, had been filled with comfortable, if disparate, furniture. Someone had even chosen for her a heavy white comforter, embroidered with a large, snarling Stark direwolf as if to protect her in her sleep. She had to stop herself from curling into it then and there, and followed the rest of the visit.

Jon also spoke of their efforts to supply for the Wintertown, and how the aid she had negotiated from the Vale had allowed them to help most of their bannermen stock up for the remainder of Winter. It was only when they settled down for dinner that he again asked about the Grand Council.

“Now, Sansa, we must know. Who will be sitting on the Iron Throne?” He asked, quietly enough that only his siblings could hear him over the noisy merriments of the dining hall. Sansa could tell he was still worried that they would try to make him king.

“No one.” She said, taking a sip of her wine as Arya and Jon tried to puzzle out what she meant.

“No one? Did the talks fail? Are we to prepare for war?” Arya asked, hand settling by her side as if to reach for Needle. Sansa couldn’t help but giggle.

“I assure you, if that was the case, I would have told you right away. No, there will be no one sitting on the Iron Throne, because there will be no Iron Throne. It has been agreed that the Seven Kingdoms would go back to being _Kingdoms.”_ She said.

“Does that mean we are-” Jon didn’t finish his sentence, as if he didn’t dare. Arya, however, didn’t have the same compunctions.

“Independent? Are we independent at last, Sansa?” She asked, eyes wide.

“Yes, we are. Every Kingdom will have their own King or Queen, free to rule as they see fit over their own realm. King’s Landing will remain neutral, and we will have to send a few ambassadors to speak on our behalf on a permanent council to settle disputes and issues between the kingdoms.” Sansa explained proudly as Arya and Jon stared. Rickon seemed to understand something was happening, but not the magnitude of what it meant for him.

“So Rickon-” Jon trailed off again.

“Is King in the North. Of course, the other realms are expecting one or all of us to act as Regent for him until he is of a more reasonable age.” She said calmly.

The rest of the dinner went quickly, as the three eldest discussed which bannerman they should send down to King’s Landing and what that meant for the future.

Arya, although she clearly stated her disinterest in acting as one of Rickon’s regent still spoke with more insight on the matter than Sansa ever expected. She had apparently spent a lot of time amongst the people of the North, if not the nobler houses, and now seemed to know everyone’s secrets and ambitions. With her insight to guide them, Sansa could finally appreciate the value of a loyal spy’s counsel.

Jon, on the other hand, had stepped up to the role of the steward of Winterfell admirably, his experience at Castle Black guiding his decisions, and the people of the North seemed to have mostly forgotten his blood ties to the Targaryen as he proved himself a Stark every day.

It was only when she got to her rooms that night that one of her maid knocked at her door to silently hand her an heavy stack of letters, all bearing a green wax seal. She felt her belly twist in excitement and dread at the sight of Willas’ answers to her letters.

‘No’, she scolded herself, ‘if he had found my letters disagreeable, he would not have written so many himself. Surely, it’s a good sign.’

Yet she dropped the stack on her table before preparing for bed. She wouldn’t have the energy or time to read them as well as they deserved tonight, she reasoned. Better to wait to do Lord Willas’ letters justice. It wasn’t as if he would know she had reached Winterfell, after all.

 

* * *

 

It took a week for Sansa to gather the courage to read Lord Willas’ letters. Every day she would feel guilty when she saw them in the morning, and once again as they were the last thing she looked upon before going to sleep. There were so many things for her to do during the day, so many people for her to see that she could almost forget about them, but the swooping feeling would come back at full force as soon she stepped in her room.

Even more so since she had sent a letter to Arianne to inform her that she had reached Winterfell safely.

Until one morning, Sansa grew tired of calling herself a coward and finally sat down at her table and snapped the seal of the oldest letter.

_Dear Lady Sansa,_

_What a glorious surprise to come back home and find two of your letters waiting for me._

_There was nothing for you to apologize for, and yet I can’t properly convey how your letter soothed my troubled heart. I should have known that cornering unexpectedly as I did was ill-advised, and I can be nothing but glad you do not think less of me for it. I am beside myself that you might actually consider me, and need you to know that although I will not do you the disgrace of pressing you, my offer remains open to you should you ever wish for it._

_As for your other concerns, I know you to be a kind, intelligent and strong woman. Those qualities alone were enough for you to find a warm place in my heart, and I am now eagerly anticipating the chance to learn even more about you._

_There is no doubt in my mind that there is nothing you could reveal of your beautiful soul that would have me thinking any less of you, and I hope you are aware of it._

_Despite you not being able to read them for some time yet, I will endeavor myself to write an answer to each of your letters, as they are sure to lighten up my days just as much as this one did._

_With all of my affection,_

_Willas Tyrell._

From that letter on, Willas only mentioned her own letters once, in his answer to her account of her nightmares.

_Dear Lady Sansa,_

_I am today glad like I had never been before that Joffrey Baratheon’s demise came at the end of my family. I am appalled and horrified at the way you were treated while there was no way for you to defend yourself. You are one of the strongest woman I have ever known to get through such ordeal and remain kind._

_My suffering was nothing to yours, but I want you to know that I had nightmares for weeks after the tourney where I hurt my leg. Your nightmares might last longer than mine have, but do not despair. They will heal in time._

_If all else fails, remind yourself that you have survived all of those who dared to hurt you. You have survived them, and flourished over their graves. And that those who care for you are more numerous than those who would hurt you._

_Thinking of you,_

_Willas Tyrell_

_ps. Was it be too forward of me to wish, as I read your letter, that I might be close enough to you to try and keep the nightmares at bay?_

His other letters were lovely, full of lively descriptions of his life at Highgarden, of his siblings and their antics, of quiet afternoons reading in the library with his favorite hound slumbering at his feet. He wrote of his leg, how he could almost forget about it some days, and how the pain kept him from getting up from his bed on others. He spoke of how he worried that he might never be able to redeem his family’s legacy after his father and grandmother’s plotting. He spoke of how the Reach was still rebuilding after the attacks of Euron and the Ironborns. He wrote how his life as the King of the Reach seemed to be mostly the same as it was before. He was doing his best to reveal himself to her as much as she was to him, and Sansa felt herself falling a little bit in love every time he called her _Dear Lady Sansa._

She loved every one of the letters, yet there was only one that she hid in her bedside table so she could read it again whenever she woke up screaming from a nightmare.

At last, though, she had to settle down and write a reply.  She knew he would now know that she was home as she asked about Loras’ health, or about the bitch who had been about to give birth in his last letter. She also wrote about the pride she had felt when she saw how Arya and Jon had rebuilt Winterfell while she was away. She spent hours crafting a reply that she felt would be half as beautiful as those he had sent her, and it was only Rickon’s entrance, demanding she come and play that stopped her from scrapping her third draft, and finally send a raven to him.

That night, there were no nightmares as Sansa dreamt she was in Highgarden, curled up against Willas, reading in the golden light of the afternoon sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhat of a shorter chapter, but it ended at the natural place, and let's the next one be longer and full of Willas!


	4. Love

Sansa had been back in Winterfell for a year. A year of busy days that left her exhausted at night. A year of helping Rickon grow into a good King while also being allowed to be a child. A year of choosing an ambassador to go to King’s Landing, and announcing to the North and Westeros that the North was once again independent under the rule of Rickon Stark and his regent, Jon Snow.

There was, of course, an argument on whether Jon or she would take the role, but Sansa pointed out that Jon had already been acting as Regent as she was in King’s Landing, and was trusted by the North.

She didn’t mention that should she marry, she’d have to leave Winterfell.

Her correspondence with King Willas was denser each month, and Winterfell’s maester would often jokingly complain that she was exhausting his birds. His words were always a ray of sunshine to brighten up her spirits, and after particularly long days, she would often open her favorite letters to find comfort in his words.

Sansa now knew herself to be in love. The warm twisting feelings that curled in her belly when she wrote King Willas would not fade away, nor would she want them to. As he had promised, he never spoke of marriage again, yet he never mentioned any other women either, and Sansa _hoped_.

She had also kept writing Arianne, although less often, as ravens took forever to go from Winterfell to Sunspear. Nevertheless, the woman’s sound advices and funny stories were often a welcome distraction.

But now that Wylis Manderly was settled in King’s Landing, and that Winter was finally giving way to Spring, things were settling down in Winterfell, and Sansa at last had time to think about her future. About her life beyond her duty. She loved her family, but she also knew they would be more than capable to rule Winterfell without her, and she couldn’t help but yearn for more.

She was seventeen now, and she dreamed of getting a family of her own. A family full of children with curly hair and warm brown eyes. A family with a man that was kind and warm and loved her. But could she really leave her family and move months away? So far away that it was possible they would never see each other again, like her mother had not seen her sister after her wedding?

Before she could come to a decision, Smalljon Umber visited Winterfell. Sansa might have thought it a simple visit from one of their most important bannermen if not for the way he kept looking at her. Or the way he endeavored to speak with her at meals when he was seated close enough, paying her all manners of flattering, if slightly awkward, compliments.

It came as no surprise, then, when he asked for an audience with her. Sansa held herself straight as Smalljon asked for her hand in marriage in a perfectly proper way. She even believed that he was truly partial to her, and not only her last name.

But she couldn’t bring herself to be excited by the proposal. Not when her mind kept slipping back to another offer, another man.

When he stopped talking, Sansa gathered all her courtesies, and assured him that she was flattered by his offer, and that she would consider it with all the attention it deserved. After all, her partiality to another was not Smalljon’s fault.

“I know I am not the most polished of lords, Lady Sansa, and I will understand if you do not want to marry me. But I would hate for you to be stuck in Winterfell because no one would dare to ask for your hand.” Smalljon told her with a friendly smile and a jerky bow.

Sansa was dumbstruck by the attention, and could only bow her head in wordless thanks. Had the other lords of the North been so intimidated by her that none would consider her? Or was Smalljon too kind to say they thought her unsuitable?

No matter. The other lords’ opinions were inconsequential, she told herself as she paced around her rooms. She could not afford to consider then. Not now.

Not now, when she knew a decision had to be made. Would she grow her family in the cradle of the North, or in the warmth of the South? For a second, she thought of writing Arianne,  the Dornish woman might favor the South too much to be as honest as Sansa needed. Regardless, there was someone else’s whose judgement in this matter she trusted even more than Arianne’s.

That very night, she gathered all of her letters, but especially the first ones, the ones where Willas had barren his soul, and went to find her sister. Arya, who had disliked Joffrey from the first day she met him. Arya, who was a better judge of character than Sansa ever could be. Arya, who had seen Sansa with her head in the clouds for a monster who did not deserve her, and never shied away from saying so. Arya, who might bring Sansa the clarity she needed.

 Sansa knocked on her sister’s door. If Arya was surprised to see her so late and so frazzled, she didn’t let it show. Instead, she stepped aside and waited for Sansa to speak.

Sansa had never been gladder she had had the chance _know_ what a great woman her sister truly was, had grown up to be. She took a deep breath.

“Please tell me if I’m fooling myself.” She asked, handing all of Willas’ letters to Arya.

Arya read every letter carefully, sitting at the table to use the candlelight. Sansa couldn’t bear to sit, and tried to distract herself by thinking about the grain they needed to last until the next harvest.

“You always did want to marry a king.” Arya said, folding the last letter on her desk.

Sansa flinched from where she was standing at the window, looking out to Winterfell.

“Don’t say that.” She whispered, not daring to look at her sister. “He is not Joffrey. He could not be. I could not be so blind again. He is not Joffrey, but Joffrey is not the only kind of monster, Arya.”

“Sansa-” Arya raised from her chair, before pausing. Sansa was good at hiding her grief, and Arya was bad at dealing with it, and so the subject of Joffrey and King’s Landing had not been brought up since the second day Arya had come back to Winterfell.

“No. I do _not_ need to be comforted. I need to _know,_ Arya. I need to know if I am fooling myself again for the sake of a handsome face. If I am, I will stay and marry Smalljon Umber. But I love him. I _love Willas._ I do. Please tell me, if there is any love in your heart for me.” She turned to look at Arya with wide eyes, covering Arya’s hand with her own.

“You damn well know I love you, Sansa. And now you’ll be _leaving_ again to marry this _handsome_ King of yours, who will worship you the way you deserve to be.” Arya said grumbled awkwardly, but earnestly. Sansa’s eyes snapped to Arya’s, and her sister smiled wistfully.

“Arya, do you really believe so?” She breathed out, full of hope.

“You’re too much of a Stark to wither in the cold, Sansa, but you would bloom in the South. Bloom, rose, ha.” Arya smirked, shifting uncomfortably.

“Oh Arya, thank you.” Sansa said, smiling tremulously.

“Don’t thank me yet, you’re the one who’ll have to tell Rickon and Jon.” Arya quipped.

 

* * *

 

Sansa did tell her brothers the next day. Jon was solemn, and confessed he had expected she would leave since she refused to be Rickon’s regent, even if he had hoped she would stay in the North. Regardless, he gave her his blessing with a tight hug.

Rickon was much harder. He had accepted easily enough for her to leave for King’s Landing because she had sworn she would come back. Now however, she didn’t have it in her to lie to him and promise him they’d see each other soon.

“I will write you at least once a month.” Sansa promised as Rickon curled himself on his bed, refusing to look at her. 

“Mama said the same thing, and then she _died._ Robb said the same thing, and then he _died too._ ” Rickon sobbed, punching his pillow.

“Mother and Robb left to go to war. We are at peace now, and I am leaving to be _married._ ” Sansa tried to explain, but she knew that it made very little difference to an eight years old boy who had known far too much death.

“Why can’t you marry _here?”_ Rickon demanded, angry and lost.

“Because I love him, Rickon. Just like Mother left Riverrun to come and marry Father.” Sansa said, choosing to not mention that their parents had been an arranged marriage, not a love one. The argument seemed to land regardless, as Rickon started to uncurl.

“You love him like mama loved papa?” He asked tearfully.

“I do.” Sansa said with absolute certainty.

“Will Arya and Jon leave me too?” Rickon asked.

“Definitely not. Arya has too much of the wolf’s blood to leave the North again, and Jon’s terrified they’d try to force him on the throne.” Sansa laughed, brushing his hair away from his sticky cheeks.

“And you’ll write me? You won’t forget me?” He asked, crawling into her lap.

“Never, Rickon. You’ll always be with me.” She promised, hugging him close.

With her family informed, Sansa now only had to sit down and write Willas a letter, asking if his offer to host her at Highgarden was still open.  She kept her reasons vague, equivocating about wishing to see the roses of the Reach. He had done her the favor of proposing to her face to face, she intended to extend him the same courtesy. No matter how difficult the wait would be.

Sansa was shaking as she handed her letter to the maester. It had been so long since they had spoken of this, did he still wish for it? Surely he still cared for her, otherwise he wouldn’t have kept up their correspondence…

As she anxiously waited for his response, she busied herself by gathering   small guard and a couple of handmaidens to escort her on her way South, and started packing what she would need. She chose to leave most of her heavier dresses in Winterfell, where they could come of use to another woman. Perhaps even Aria, should she have then shortened.

She also drafted a letter to Arianne to inform her that, as she had predicted, Sansa had found a reason to come back South, and hoped Arianne might find the time to meet her half-way in the future. She waited on Willas’ answer to send it, however, not wishing to give her friend false hope.

Every fiber of her being seemed to be hanging on Willas’ answer.

She needed not have worried however, because not even a week after her raven had left, another came baring the seal of the Tyrell. She opened it with unsteady hands, hiding in her room in case of disappointment. The handwriting was much less clean than usual, as if written in great agitation.

_My dear Lady Sansa,_

_Nothing in the world would make me happier than having you come visit me in Highgarden! I am sure my family would also be overjoyed to see you again._

_I do not have the words to express how I am looking forward to see you again, and fear any useless lines I write down will only delay your departure. I simply ask, out of pity for my heart, that you leave as soon as you are able._

_I am eagerly awaiting your arrival,_

_Willas Tyrell_

Thus it was settled. Sansa would leave for Highgarden in a week. She sent her letter to Arianne, and another to Lord Wilys to tell him she’d stop to see him in King’s Landing for a day or two before taking the Roseroad.

Soon enough, there was nothing more to be done than to tearfully say goodbye to her brothers and sister. Most of the castle’s inhabitants, from the maester to the smith gathered as well to wish her safe travels and good luck.

As they reached the first crest of the King’s Road, Sansa turned around to look at Winterfell’s dark towers, crowned in the cold light of the morning sun, as beautiful as it had ever been. A good farewell for a good home.

As her party made its way towards the Neck, Sansa spent almost as much time on horseback than in the wagon. She wished to see and breathe the North as much as she could until she left it, maybe for years.

This time she didn’t write Willas much on the way to Highgarden, only a few words once she reached The Twins to inform him of her progress. Instead she wrote to Winterfell. Little notes about her travel, or tales for Rickon, small nothings to soothe her homesickness and reassure her family she really didn’t mean to forget them even if she was leaving.

 By the time they crossed the border of the Reach, it was the longest she and Willas had gone without hearing from each other since she left King’s Landing. She was missing him even more than she had anticipated, and when she thought that in a few days, two weeks at most, she would see his face again, she fancied she might take flight.

Until one warm day, as the sun had almost set, Sansa and her guard climbed one last hill to finally see Highgarden in all its glory. In the orange light of dusk, the white stone buiding seemed to be shrouded in gold. All of the sudden, every minute she spent away from the castle and its king felt like torture. She pushed her horse into a canter, followed by the fond teases of her guards and handmaidens.

She only slowed down her horse once she reached the courtyard of the castle. At this late hour, it was almost empty, and she took a deep breath to steady her nerves.

“Sansa!” a bright voice called.

She turned as much as she could from the top of her horse, just as the rest of her guard came thundering behind her.

She saw Lady Margaery come running out of the castle, long curly hair trailing behind her. A wide smile burst unto Sansa’s face, and she jumped down from her horse just in time for Margaery to drag her into her arms.

“My dear Sansa! We had quite given up on you joining us today when one of the gardeners saw your wagon on the road! Oh what a joy it is to see you again!” She thrilled, before pushing back to take a good look at Sansa.

“How well you look!” She said happily. As before, Margaery’s manners seemed perfectly polished to appear as pleasant and charming as possible, yet Sansa found no insincerity in the lady’s eyes.

“I have been on the road for near two months, Lady Margaery.” Sansa said with a fond smile. “I am hardly at my best.”

“Nonsense! Willas will never know the difference.” Margaery said with a wink, and Sansa felt herself blush. “And you _must_ call me Margaery. We were close once, and I can only hope we will be again now!”

Before Sansa can even think of an answer, the door of the castle was pushed open to reveal the rest of the Tyrells, led by the two eldest Tyrells. When he saw her, however, Willas stuttered to a halt, mouth hanging open, allowing Loras and his mother to pass him by. Garlan was the first one to reach her with a low bow and a warm greeting. Loras, his beautiful face now marred with burn scars – although Willas had confided the rest of his body was much worst – did much of the same, adding a courtly kiss on her knuckles. Lady Alerie gently embraced her, and welcomed Sansa to Highgarden as fell to her as the Lady of the castle.

At last, there was no one for her to greet but Willas, who finally shook himself out of his trance and approached her. Without a word, but with a wealth of emotion shining into his beautiful eyes, he brought her hand to his mouth for a soft kiss.

Lady Alerie swiftly guided them inside, fretting about Sansa and how hungry she must be after so long a travel. Dinner was already on the table in the private dining hall the family used when they had no guests, and Sansa was smoothly settled between Willas and Margaery. Garlan assured her the rest of her entourage was being taken care of by their staff.

There was a shyness between her and Willas now that was never present in their letters. It seemed strange to hear his voice. It felt even more disturbing to have other people witnessing them. There was so much she would like to say to him, and nothing she could express while they were in public. So she ate, answered the questions from the rest of the Tyrells, and shared charged looks with Willas.

Soon, too soon the food was cleared away, and Margaery caught Sansa stifling a yawn.

“How rude of us, Sansa! You must be exhausted.” She said, standing up to bring her to her rooms.

Willas, however, pushed his chair away from the table with a loud noise, rising to his feet, his cane already in hand.

“I’ll show Lady Sansa to her rooms.” He said, brooking no argument. Margaery sat back down with an amused smile, and the rest of the family bid them a good night.

Willas offered Sansa his good arm, as he had many times before, and they walked out. Sansa had hoped things would be easier once they were alone, but now felt as if her entire body was on fire. The proper words didn’t seem to come, and so they walked in silence.

Until they reached a door to what she assumed was her rooms. Willas stopped, and bowed his head.

“These are your chambers, Lady Sansa.” He murmured. Sansa nodded, still at a loss on what to do.

Until Willas made to move away. Until she felt his warmth leave her.

Her body moved before she could stop herself, and she grabbed his other arm. They both looked from the place she held him to each other’s eyes, frozen.

Suddenly she was surging forward and he was meeting her halfway.

Their mouths found each other, and a bolt of lightning ran through Sansa. She curled one of her hand around Willas’ jaw, tangling the other in his hair, fearful that if she let go, her knees would give out. Willas’ lips were soft and warm, his bristle was scratchy against her chin and it was _heaven._ It was more than she ever thought it could be, more than it had ever been before.

It became even better when Willas wrapped an arm around her waist and pressed her tighter against him. Sansa thanked the Smith that they were of a height so that Sansa could lose herself into Willas’ embrace without straining.

Guided by a need she had never known before, Sansa pushed her mouth harder against his, demanding more, please more. Willas complied with a groan, opening his mouth of tease her lips with his tongue. When she gasped at the unexpected sensation, he slipped it inside, exploring her with a ravenous hunger.

Hesitantly, Sansa caressed Willas tongue with her own, and they both moaned. Willas started walking back until he had his back to the wall for support, dragging Sansa with him.

After what seemed a century, they broke apart gasping, pressing their foreheads together.

“I swear I meant to ask for your hand before I kissed you.” Sansa giggled breathlessly against his lips.

“My love, there was never any need to ask.” He whispered before claiming her lips again.

 

* * *

 

Willas and Sansa had decided to keep the news of their betrothal quiet for the moment. Far from being ashamed of each other, they wished to have the opportunity to reconnect peacefully before they were sucked into the maelstrom that would be planning a royal wedding.

Which meant that, lacking the excuse of tending to his future wife, Willas had to work most mornings, meeting with staff, or his advisors, or visiting nobles. Sansa, on the other hand, was invited to join Lady Alerie and Margaery when Willas was busy. Their time was mainly spent sowing, drawing, embroidering and sharing light talk. Yet, often enough it included counselling Lady Alerie on some issue or another in the Reach that Sansa was starting to suspect her companions were trying to prepare her to step up as Queen of the Reach.

Not that it hurt to get a head start on learning the nobility gossip.

Usually, however, Willas and she were able to ‘slip away’ in the afternoons. They would either to hide out in the Library like they had in King’s Landing, take a walk in the gardens, or go on a ride if Willas needed to breathe.

Sansa knew they were not being subtle in their attachment to each other, but the other occupants of Highgarden seemed content enough to indulge them and pretend nothing was happening. Only Loras and Margaery would slip in a fond tease once in a while, and they were easily laughed away.

After two weeks, however, Sansa started getting antsy.

Not because she doubted Willas or herself, or even because she feared the judgment of others. But because Willas and she had agreed not to be intimate until they were joined in the eyes of the Gods.

And so, no matter how many heated kiss they shared in the privacy of the gardens, Willas was always careful never to let him hands wander, for fear of losing himself. Sansa loved and hated him for it, because it seemed like a hunger she had never suspected before had awoken. It was torturing her, burning her inside.

They were hiding in an alcove, hidden from view by an effusive bush of roses when she finally had enough. Willas was leaning on the wall, his head thrown back to give Sansa easier access to his neck. She was hard at work nipping little marks that would be just barely hidden by his stubble. His every groans and moans seemed to shoot right to her core, and she clutched at his back with a whine.

“We need to tell them.” Sansa murmured hoarsely against his neck, raking her teeth on his reddened skin.

“Sa- Sansa?” He groaned, holding her arm for support.

“We have to tell your family, Willas, or I fear I will explode.” She said.

With great effort, Willas pushed her back gently to look at her.

“Are you sure you are ready to deal with Margaery in full wedding mania?” He asked breathlessly, a hopeful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I am sure I will not survive much longer without _knowing_ you as a wife knows her husband.” Sansa hissed back, blood flooding her cheeks. Willas stared at her for a long moment before surging forward to kiss her, aching for her as much as she was for him.

“We’ll tell them tonight.” He promised as he pulled away, still clutching at her hips.

“Tonight.” Sansa said back, pushing a lock of his hair behind his ear.

Their announcement at dinner was met with no surprise but explosive enthusiasm. Margaery jumped at Sansa, grabbing her hands.

“I am so glad that we are finally to be sisters after all those years!” She exclaimed, beaming. She moved aside to let Lady Alerie step in, who expressed her joy with as much sincerity, if less noise.

Willas, on his part, was being slapped on his back repeatedly by his brothers who japed and teased until he good-naturedly pushed them away with a grumble. It was quickly agreed the wedding would take place a month from now, to give the Tyrells plenty of time to organize everything they needed, and for their guests to arrive.

From then on, Sansa was enveloped in a flurry of never-ending work. There was a dress to commission and adjust, a menu to settle on, a wedding cape to sow. Ravens were dispatched to all who would be invited to the wedding.

As they had already decided before Sansa’s departure from Winterfell, the Starks were unable to attend, but sent Sansa and their future good-brother their love and blessings. King Edmure of the Riverlands however, promised he would be there. Sansa had never been close to Edmure, having not spent much time with him, but she was glad there would be someone from her family to walk her down the aisle. Queen Arianne of Dorne also wrote back a letter full of effusive joy and promised she would be present even if she had to grow wings to do so.

Otherwise, most of the guests would come from the Reach, either family or bannermen.

One downside of being officially betrothed, aside from all the work, was that whenever Willas and Sansa carved out some time to spend together, they were to be chaperoned. As discreet as Lady Alerie or Leonette and Garlan could make themselves, this meant Sansa and Willas couldn’t do anything more risky than walking arm in arm. If Sansa was feeling antsy before, she was fit to catch on fire now. More than once she had woken up covered in sweat and with a tingling ache between her legs.

Edmure Tully and Arianne Martell arrived within a day of each other, just before the wedding. Edmure came first, and spent as much time with Sansa as the last minute wedding preparations would allow.

“I was present for Cat and Lysa’s wedding. And Robb’s. I know I am a poor replacement for your parents and your older brother, but I would not miss this for the world.” Edmure said, shifting from side to side, and Sansa couldn’t stop herself from hugging him tightly.

“I am glad you will be with me, uncle.” She said with a watery smile.

Arianne however, refused to be separated from Sansa under any circumstances, and was more than happy to give her opinions on the flower arrangements and Sansa’s dress. Pretty but uninspired and splendid if a bit shy, respectively.

“I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me and let this delicious man slip through your fingers.” She told Sansa has they walked back from Sansa’s room. Sansa giggled and shook her head.

“I would never dare earn your disapproval Arianne. I know you’d run to Winterfell to give me a piece of your mind.” Sansa said with a smile. “But here you are, older than me, Queen of Dorne, and unmarried. Perhaps I should be the one disappointed.”

“Maybe I’m waiting to lure that cousin of yours away from Winterfell.” Arianne mused with a smirk. “I was promised a Targaryen after all!”

“Then I am afraid you will die an old maid.” Sansa giggled. Arianne threw her head back and laughed.

“Do not worry for me, my friend. I am in talks with several lords. I will not leave Dorne without heirs.” Arianne promised, more solemn. “And I am expecting your presence at my wedding. The Seven know Dorne and the Reach need to be reminded we are not enemies.”

At last, at long last, the wedding day came. Margaery, Lady Alerie and Arianne sat in her solar as Sansa’s maids helped her into her dress and styled her hair.

Sansa had been told many tales of women being overcome with nerves on their wedding day, yet she felt nothing but certainty. She loved Willas, and he loved her.

She did dread what being Queen of the Reach would entail, but then she remembered that Willas would be by her side, and everything felt right again. This was where she was meant to be she thought as she looked at herself in the mirror. The dress was a light grey, but the skirt was embroidered with green vines and gold roses, as if they were growing on it.

This was where she was meant to be, she thought as she stepped out of her room to meet her uncle.

This was where she was meant to be, she thought as the doors of the Sept opened and the crowd turned to look at her.

This was where she was meant to be, she thought as she looked at no one but Willas as she walked up the aisle.

This was where she was meant to be, she thought when she saw in Willas’ eyes the same joy and certainty that shone in her heart.

This was where she was meant to be, she thought as Willas led her into the godswoods after the ceremony so they could say their vows in front of the Old Gods as well as the New.

This was where she was meant to be. In the arms of the man she loved.

 

* * *

 

The feast was breathtaking, the food was excellent and their guests were uproarious.

And Sansa felt no shame in slipping away before the dessert was taken away. Willas shushed her with a smile as she giggled, closing the side-door behind them. After all, neither of them had any interest in the Bedding tradition, and would much rather spend their first night as husband and wife alone.

Willas led her down the hallway leading to the family wing. She had been there to visit Lady Alerie and Margaery, but she had never seen Willas’ quarters.

The door he opened was the first in the wing, one she had walked passed dozens of time. It revealed a pleasant solar with a gorgeous view of the Mander. Yet all that mattered to Sansa was the sound of the door closing, meaning they were finally alone.

“This is the solar. On the right is the door to your chambers.” Willas said, voice betraying his nerves. “On the left-” He stopped with a click of his teeth and Sansa stepped forward and cupped his jaw with her hand.

“Willas.” She said his name with relish, tasting each of the vowels.

“Yes?” He whispered, his gorgeous eyes twinkling in the light of the moon.

“I don’t care.” Sansa answered with all the care in the world. Without another world, she took his hand and led him to his room gently. Willas almost tripped over his _good_ foot in his haste to follow her. She pushed the door to reveal a large bed and a sparse room. Willas closed the bedroom door as well, and Sansa shook in anticipation when she heard the click.

“We don’t _have_ to do anything.” Willas said, although his eyes roamed over every inch of her.

“Willas, I love you for saying that, but if you don’t touch me now, I will _not_ be responsible for my actions.” Sansa threatened.

Willas grabbed her hips and drew her to him, capturing her mouth like he had so many time before, except now it was silver light that danced in his hair, and there was a bed _right there._

“What would my lady want from me?” Willas asked, lips brushing against her ear.

“I would feel all of my lord against me.” Sansa answered, feeling bolder than a knight charging into battle. “Help me with my laces.”

Willas took a step back as she turned around. Gently, he started untying her dress, peppering her shoulders with kisses that lit her on fire. Sansa arched into it, barely noticing when her dress fell to the floor.

She did notice when Willas’ hand slipped under her thin shift to caress her thigh, with only her stockings between the two of them. She gasped, and grasped behind her at his shoulders for balance. Willas happily complied, wrapping an arm around her waist to hold her up, and his other hand moved higher, finding warm skin, and higher still until he was cupping her breast. Sansa whined, tightening her hold on him as he started to toy at her nipple, mouthing heavy kissed at her neck.

“Willas!” She gasped as he kept going, flooding her senses with pleasure.

“Sansa.” He groaned his answer, and pressed himself closer to her. Now Sansa could feel his erection against her backside, and her eyes rolled back. Without thinking, she pushed back against it, and Willas moaned. Seemingly forgetting what he was doing before, he started grinding against her, puffing little desperate breaths against her shoulder. Sansa felt almost dizzy with all the sensations running through her body. So many tales of sexual exploits, yet no one had told her of how overwhelming it would be. How _good_ it would be. Suddenly, every layer of clothes was torture to Sansa and she pushed aside Willas’s hands, spinning around.

Before he even had the time to complain at the loss of contact, Sansa attacked the stays of his doublet. Her need made her clumsy, her inexperience unfocused, and soon enough Willas was gently batting her hands away, taking her lead and undressing himself. Now useless, Sansa walked back until she reached the bed. Unwilling to take her eyes away from her husband – her _husband-_ as he was finally revealing himself to her, she sat and scooted backwards. Swiftly, not allowing herself to be shy, she rolled down her stockings.

She would not be shy. She was a Stark, and she would share the bed of the man she loved.

She would not be afraid.

Once Willas was done with his doublet and undershirt, he looked up and finally witnessed Sansa spread out on his bed, waiting for him. When she had his attention, Sansa smiled shakily, and with a bracing breath, slipped off her shift, leaving herself completely nude before him.

Willas chocked, and stumbled forward as if hooked by a fishing line.

“No.” Sansa snapped. He froze instantly.

“Sansa?” He whispered, desperation turning his question into a plea.

“I want you bare.” She demanded, cheek burning. But her need was burning even brighter as she looked at his trousers where his cock was tenting the leather. Willas cursed and sat on the bed by her foot to tug the last of his clothes off.

At last, Sansa was able to admire the glory of Willas Tyrell, from the lean muscle of his back to the fine dusting of hair on his chest to his erection, standing proudly.

Sansa had no experience with male anatomy, yet there was no doubt in her mind that her husband had an exemplar cock.

Willas grabbed the nearest part of Sansa, her right foot, and brought it to his mouth to gently kiss the arch of it. From there, he moved his mouth to her ankle, dropping little kisses all the while. Sansa grew more and more breathless as he crawled closer to her core, with no signs of stopping.

“Willas?” She whispered. Her husband raised his head to look at her, licking her lips.

“I find myself still hungry despite the feast, my love.” He murmured, eyes boring into hers. “Will you let me taste you?”

Sansa felt her throat constrict so tight she could not say a word, and nodded nervously. Willas smiled at her like she had just given him the sun, and dived back down, nipping at the inside of her thighs. Sansa pushed one of her hand into his hair, needing to touch him, needing and anchor.

Then Willas kissed her inner lips and she arched off the bed with a wail, clutching as the pillow. She felt him moan appreciatively and yet he seemed to be looking for something, lips and tongue exploring.

Sansa knew right away when he found it, because stars burst out in front of her eyes. She thought she might have screamed his name, but she was too distracted to know for sure. Or care.

What she knew was that Willas wrapped his lips around that _thing_ , and started sucking and licking at it, spurred on by her sounds of bliss. Sansa wondered distantly if she was hurting him with her grip on his hair, but he never seemed to pay it any mind. Instead, he brought up one of his hand, and rubbed at her inner lips.

“Yes, Willas, please!” Sansa didn’t know what she was asking for, but Willas seemed to, and he pushed one long finger inside of her. Sansa’s eyes rolled back in her head, and she started shifting her hips, pushing back against his mouth and his fingers.

Willas pumped his hand in and out a few times before adding a second finger, and Sansa saw the stars again. By the time he slipped in third one she felt like she might explode, and with on last suck at that spot that drove her wild, her vision was filled with white.

When she slipped back into her body, she found Willas laying by her side, caressing her face. She turned to press a kiss to the palm of his hand, and he gave out a hoarse chuckle.

“Welcome back.” He whispered. Sansa beamed, and shifted so she could press herself into his warmth. Which had the added benefit of pushing her thigh against his still very much present erection.

Sansa felt almost faint as all her blood seemed to flood back towards her core. Against her, Willas groaned, pushing his face closer to hers.

“Sansa!” he gasped. She kissed him, nipping at his lips as she threw one of her legs over his thigh. She needed to feel him, all of him, _now,_ she thought as she tried to tug him over her.

Yet he stopped her, holding her hips away from his.

“N-no.” He whispered, and she saw something like shame twist his mouth. “I can’t- I- You need to be on top.”

His leg, Sansa realized. She hadn’t thought of how it might affect him in bed, but she refused to be deterred. If he couldn’t be on top, then she would. Without wasting another moment, she pushed him until he laid flat on his back, and she straddled him. She could feel his erection nudging her backside, and it took all of her self-restraint not to sink down on it then and there. She didn’t know exactly what she would do, but she wouldn’t let that stop her.

She was a Stark. She would not be shy.

“Good thing we went on so many rides together, then.” She said calmly. Willas looked up at her in wonderment, and she bent down to kiss him, pouring all her love into it. She needed him to understand there would be no place for shame in their bed. Not hers, and certainly not his. They would figure it out.

“I love you.” She murmured against his lips before pulling back.

“I love you.” He professed at her, cupping her hips with his hands. With this benediction, Sansa raised herself on her knees, and took him in hand. The skin was softer than she expected, luscious velvet over solid iron, and she took the time to pump his cock a few times before finally, finally, pushing the head against her lips and sinking back down.

She went slowly, as much to give herself time to adjust as to enjoy the way the drag sent sparkles of ecstasy into her body. She had never felt anything like it, never felt this full, like Willas was a missing piece of her that she had just now found again. She had to shift from side to side as she went down, trying to figure out the best position for herself, but the noises of helpless pleasure that slipped out of Willas’ mouth pushed away any self-consciousness.

When she was finally seated on his hips, when his cock was filling parts of her that had never been touched, she opened her eyes again and looked down.

Willas was holding unto her like he might die if he let go. His head was thrown back into the pillows, his throat taunt and inviting. Mindful of keeping him inside her, Sansa carefully bent down to press a chaste kiss on the underside of his jaw, demanding his attention.

Willas groaned, and slowly cracked open his eyes to look at her.

“Sansa…” He was at a loss for words, and so was she, so she whispered the only thing that mattered.

“I love you.”

She pushed herself back up, bracing herself on his chest, and starting moving. Guided by her instinct and his grip on his hips, Sansa was trying to figure out what felt best. She shifted her hips, unwilling to let go of a single inch of him just yet, but pleasure was already sparkling under her skin. They gasped and moaned in unison, until Willas let go of one of her hips to grab at the hand on his chest.

“Sansa, please.” He begged, and she finally raised herself on her knees and rode him.

Willas bucked into her as much as he could, helping her stay steady even as her movements became wilder and wilder. His cock almost slipped out her a few times, yet Sansa couldn’t help herself. In between the indescribable pleasure and the way Willas kept chanting her name, she needed _more,_ always _more._

She felt the moment Willas tipped over the edge. All of his muscles locked into iron under her, his hips twitching mindlessly against hers. His seed filled her, warm and potent inside her body, and she threw her head back to howl. Yet Sansa needed more, and she brought her hand to try and find _that_ spot between her legs, the one that brought her to the stars. She fumbled a bit, shaking and desperate, until another hand joined her, guiding her.

She looked up at Willas, who was watching with hooded eyes, as he pushed their hands together _just right,_ and she moaned.

“Come for me, Sansa, please.” With his plea, he gave on last push against her core and Sansa was lost again.

She distantly remembered curling herself against Willas, and complaining when he moved away. By the time he slid back into bed, she had mostly regained her sight, and hummed inquisitively. He simply chuckled in answer, kissing her hair, until she felt a warm cloth against her belly, gently moving to clean her core.

“You’ll thank me in the morning.” Willas whispered fondly. Sansa hummed and curled herself against him, wrapping an arm around his chest.

“I’m thanking you now.” She said, nuzzling into his neck.

“I love you, Sansa Stark.” Willas vowed.

“I love you, Willas Tyrell.” Sansa answered.

 

 

 

 

[The drawing I made of Sansa and Willas' first kiss.](https://thisslytherindraws.tumblr.com/post/173045953737/first-kiss-this-is-a-sneak-peak-of-the-next-and)

[An old painting I made of Sansa and Willas walking the gardens of Highgarden that mostly works in this story!](https://thisslytherindraws.tumblr.com/post/161486540714/the-blush-of-high-garden)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end! If you liked this, be sure to check out my other works, and you can also go check out [my art tumblr](https://thisslytherindraws.tumblr.com) where I posted the painting of Sansa and Willas!
> 
>  


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